Omniscient
by DarkRiverTempest
Summary: Season 4 - Starts with the episode "Something Blue" and goes off canon from there. Spike and the Scoobies have no idea what the chip is capable of... and once it starts to misfire, Spike becomes a wealth of information.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This was one of my first stories - it doesn't start to get the 'M' rating until maybe the middle of the story and towards the end. I've taken dialogue from several episodes of season 4 of BTVS and season 1 of Angel. I'm sure you'll recognize them when you see them. Disclaimer: Joss owns it all, I make no money, so don't get litigious! *Do let me know if you'd like this to continue* FYI, I'm a Spuffy shipper all the way!______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"So… you saw their faces but you can't describe them," Buffy sighed in exasperation.

"Well, they were human. Two eyes each, kind of in the middle," Spike clarified.

Great. The crap was getting thick in here, time for waders. "Uh-huh. And the lab, where's that at?"

"Must be underground. I came out through an air vent. I don't know exactly where. I'm done. Put the telly on." He looked away and clammed up.

The vampire smelled the blood before Giles reached the bathroom, mug in hand. His salivary glands went into overtime.

"It's about time! Hope you got it warm enough," he grumbled.

Instead of handing the mug to Spike, Giles handed it to Buffy without saying a word.

She looked in the mug and made a face at the stench that wafted up from the _Kiss the Librarian_ cup. "God, this stuff is disgusting, not to mention the gag factor involved with me feeding it to you," she said as she shoved the mug towards Spike with the straw dangling over the edge.

"I don't know why you're so dainty all of a sudden. You've done this for Angel - you must have," he said between huge slurps, hoping to gross her out even more.

She pulled the mug away suddenly, leaving Spike with the straw dangling from between his lips, blood dripping into the bathtub.

"Hey! Give it!" he yelled in outrage.

"Okay, that's it! The invalid amnesiac routine is over. The kitchen is closed until you can tell me something useful about the Commandos," she threatened. She was tired of this situation with Spike and it was time to get the _victim_ to talk.

His bleached head tilted to the side, an expression of thoughtfulness on his face. "I'm tryin' to remember… it was very traumatic." He topped it off with his best sad puppy dog eyes and feigned a pout.

She rolled her eyes in disgust. "How long are you going to pull this crap?"

He stared hard at the Slayer. "How long am I going to live once I tell you?" He held no illusions that once he told them everything he was as good as dust.

Giles, who'd been standing idly by, finally piped into the conversation. "Look, look, Spike, we have no intention of killing a harmless… uh, creature… but we have to know what's been done to you. We can't let you go until we're sure that you're… i-impotent," he stuttered, showing how uncomfortable the whole conversation was making him feel.

"Hey!" The vampire's indignation was palpable.

"Good Lord, sorry, poor choice of words. Until we're sure you're, you're…"

"Flaccid?" Buffy offered.

Righteous outrage flared across Spike's face as he started to struggle with the bonds that were holding him. "Oh, you are one step away, missy!"

"Oh, help, help! He's going to scold me to death!" she mocked sarcastically.

That was it; the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. Spike growled and pulled on the chains that bound him to the tub. The cuffs bit into his wrists as he lunged at the Slayer, forgetting the little piece of hardware the goons had shoved in his head to hinder his enjoyment of torturing the evil wench!

Because he was 'planning' to hurt the Slayer in the most delicious of ways once he reached her, blinding pain raced through his skull and paralyzed him, stiffening his body to the point of corpse-like rigor mortis. The chains pulled taunt against his body then he went limp with a whimper as his head lulled to the side, blood trickling down from his nose onto his lip.

Noticing he didn't move for quite some time, she frowned and looked back at Giles. "Is that normal when he gets zapped?"

He bent down and looked into Spike's gaunt, paler than normal face. "I've not seen the device work before, I have no reference." He pulled the vamp's eyelid up to see if his pupils were dilated. "I do believe he's passed out from the pain."

The Watcher then began fishing around in his pockets for the key to Spike's cuffs and started unlocking them, but was abruptly stopped by Buffy as she grabbed his hands to keep him from releasing the seemingly unconscious vamp.

"Wait! Are you serious? This is Spike! As in _gonna kill my third Slayer_ Spike! You can't just let him go, even if he does resemble _The English Patient_, she warned.

Said topic of discussion began moaning and rolling his head around the edge of the bathtub just as Giles finished re-locking the restraints.

"Bloody fucking hell! I feel like a seasick fish!" Spike moaned, clutching his head.

She snorted in amusement. "Fish don't get seasick, Bleached Wonder."

"Do so, Slayer… and frogs drink through their skin," he shot back, the pain receding. He wiped at the blood on his upper lip and sucked it off his thumb.

She winced in revulsion. "Ugh, you're disgusting! That's from your nose Spike!"

"And give the nasty blonde bitch a kewpie doll for pointing out the obvious," he sneered. "Oh, and by the way… only one out of every fourteen women in America is a natural blonde." Leering at Buffy's crotch while waggling his eyebrows, he continued. "Makes me wonder what color your tight and curlies are, luv."

Her eyes widened as she huffed. He was so gonna pay for that one! She leaned towards the tub, but just out of reach, pulling her hair to one side and stroking the throbbing jugular. "Oh, look at my… poor neck? All bare and tender and exposed… all that blood just … pumping away," she teased seductively.

Spike was all but licking his lips, nostrils flaring to catch even a hint of the Slayer's blood. "You know, pet, you can lose up to a third of your blood and still survive… give a bloke a nip, yeah?"

"Oh, please," Giles intoned wearily as he walked out of the bathroom and into the living room where Willow was reading through some texts.

Buffy looked back at Spike after her Watcher left. "Willow can always use a truth spell on you. Not sure it would work on a vampire, but we can try. Make you fess up."

He curled his tongue behind his teeth and grinned. "Don't rightly know how that would turn out, pet, seeing as I'm always truthful about being evil."

"Oh, I think your version of evil now is telling really bad vampire jokes," she snickered.

"So what do you call a vampire that lives in the kitchen?" he asked out of the blue.

She looked at him blankly.

"Count Spatula." She groaned and rolled her eyes.

"What do you get when you cross a vampire bat with a pygmy?"

"Spike…" she warned.

"A little sucker." He grinned unrepentantly.

"That's enough, Spike."

"What kind of ship does Dracula captain?" he pushed.

"Giles!"

"A blood vessel."

"Giles! Make him stop!"

"If those two don't kill each other, I might lend a hand," Giles muttered to Willow in passing.

She watched him as he downed a fifth of Scotch in exasperation, grimacing as it burned his throat. Checking her watch, she realized she was a little late for her next class, so she headed towards the bathroom to say goodbye to Buffy, popping her head around the door.

"Hey, Buff, I'm gonna go but I'll be back in the morning with donuts after I stop at the magic shop." She glanced at Spike, who was now trying to reach the knobs on the small television set that Giles set up for him.

"Hey, Red! Did you know that redheads feel more pain than other women?" he asked, grunting as he stretched lengthwise across the tub.

Her face scrunched up as tears gathered in her eyes, her breakup with Oz still weighing heavily on her. But this kind of remark from Spike was way off in left field. "Um, what makes you think that we feel more pain?" She was curious in spite of herself.

"Well… a doc, um… name's Liem I think, yeah…well…" Spike grunted again as he tried in vain to reach the TV once more. "Well this Liem bloke, he did a study to determine whether redheads felt more pain than other women. Don't know why he chose redheads, just at good as any other I s'pect. He gave the lot of 'em a common anesthetic drug, and while they were kippin' he pricked 'em with needles and monitored their reflex responses to pain. Seems redheads need two percent more bhappy/b drugs to numb their pain." He finally gave up in frustration and lay back against the tub. "Probably a genetic glitch or something."

"A genetic glitch?" she mumbled as silent tears made tracks down her face. She didn't wait on any more comments, murmuring a hasty goodbye to Buffy as she dashed out the door.

Buffy glared white-hot daggers at the vamp that was oblivious to the pain he just caused. Without thought, she hauled off and knocked him right up side the head; which unfortunately, caused the chip to fire. Again. Spike screamed this time and she was afraid the chains wouldn't hold him secure.

"Giles!" she yelled as she rounded the corner into the living room.

He sighed in resignation, wanting to drink the remainder of the bottle. "What is it now, Buffy?"

"There's something seriously wrong with that… that… _thing_ that curbs Spike's enthusiasm!"

They both looked in the bathroom at a prone Spike, blood once again dripping from his nose. "What happened this time?"

A small flash of guilt crossed her face. "Um… I kinda went Rocky Balboa on his head?"

He shook his head. "Whatever for? It's not as if he can escape those chains - they're magically reinforced. His threats are more of an annoyance than anything else, I assure you."

"Well, he said some damaging stuff about Willow's genetics… or… something," she murmured, a hint of remorse creeping in.

"Why on earth would Spike talk about genetics with Willow? Why would he talk about them with, well… anyone?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "He's been acting really weird, and I mean weirder than usual for Spike… spouting random facts and telling shitty vampire jokes."

"Buffy, language," he admonished.

"But, Giles, these were groaners, I swear!"

"It doesn't matter. He's waking up again. Let's see what's going on in that mind of his."

"That sounds like a dubious prospect, Watcher," Spike responded hoarsely.

"Yes, well Buffy tells me you are acting out of the norm, even for you. Since when do you know anything, at all, about genetics?"

The vampire blinked slowly and gathered his bearings. "Don't rightly know. One minute I was enjoying my Passions and cuppa Wilbur and the next I felt like the bleedin' Encyclopedia Britannica." Sudden realization of his precarious situation made him audibly gulp. "What the bleedin' hell did those tossers do to me?"

Giles wanted to try something, an experiment of sorts. "Spike, I'm going to give you a phrase or a word and I want you, in turn, to produce an anagram as fast as you can. Is this amenable to you?"

He stared at the Watcher. "Sure, Rupes." He had no unearthly clue as to what he was on about, but he'd play along… for shits and giggles.

"William Shakespeare."

"I'll make a wise phrase," Spike spun out of nowhere.

Giles eyebrows rose considerably. "The American Revolution."

Without a beat… "Unite to revile a monarch."

He grinned a lopsided smirk. "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band."

Spike wiped the blood still dripping from his nose and chuckled. "Crap LP sung by the LSD prone Beatles."

He moved closer to Spike and bent down to eye level. "Truth is…"

"It hurts," he said softly.

Giles narrowed his eyes on Spike. Digging around in his pocket, he fished out the key to Spike's cuffs and unlocked them, all the while ignoring Buffy's protests in the background.

"Thanks, mate," he said quietly, nodding his head in appreciation as he rubbed the raw spots on his wrists.

"Don't make me regret it, Spike."


	2. Chapter 2

Giles shoved a highly flustered Buffy towards the door with a reminder to have her tell Willow that the ingredients for the truth spell would not be necessary. He suspected that if he asked the right questions, Spike would be more than forthcoming.

"But, Giles, this is - is… Spike!" She threw her hands up in frustration, standing in the entryway as she watched the bleached menace peruse Giles' bookshelves looking for something. She couldn't think of anything witty to say about the possibility that her Watcher was going to be alone with a master vampire, albeit a 'neutered' master vampire, for an extended amount of time, sans restraints. No matter what kind of muzzle the Army goons wrangled Spike with, she still didn't trust him.

Glasses dangling in the hand that was pinching the bridge of his nose, Giles muttered softly, "Buffy, I don't trust Spike either at this point. However, certain Icircumstances/I have come to light and it would be foolish not to explore those possibilities."

She stared at her Watcher. "English please?"

He rolled his eyes at the state of America's youth. "Spike's… malfunction may be to our benefit. It seems he may have an abundance of information off the top of his head, literally. I have no clue as to the boundaries of this Iability/I so until then, I think it wise to let him be, as long as he remains innocuous to the group and the public in general."

She still stared.

Pushing her out the door, he whispered harshly, "I want to know what's going on in that bloody mind of his and I don't think he'll give me even so much as a crumb if you're in the flat!"

Taken aback by the abruptness of his tone and the fact he wanted her… gone, she nodded mutely, mumbling something about having to check on Willow anyway. After walking a few feet, she turned to say something else, only to find the door closing hard with a solid thud. She frowned and headed on her way towards campus.

~*~

Giles hated being insensitive towards her, but this Spike thing really had him puzzled. He leaned against the door and watched the vampire peruse his non-demon library, pulling out a book here and there, flipping through the pages before placing it back on the shelf.

"Would you like some coffee?" he offered.

Holding a volume open, Spike barely looked up. "That'd be right civil of you, Rupes."

"How do you take it?"

"Coffee should be black as hell, strong as death, and as sweet as love… so says a Turkish proverb," he replied, grinning like a fool.

"Turkish, you say?" Giles raised an eyebrow.

"Did you know that Istanbul is the only city in the world that is on two continents? Half of the city sits in Europe, the other half in Asia," he stated, ignoring Giles' comment.

He remained silent hoping Spike would divulge more information, leaning against his kitchen counter while the vamp remained quiet. He'd finally selected one book from the case and sat down on the sofa to start reading.

"What have you there?"

Spike flipped the book over and read the spine. "The Murders in the Rue Morgue."

"Ah, Edgar Allen Poe… a dark and mysterious man," he nodded in contemplation.

"He was credited with breathing life into the detective story, Rupes. That Conan Doyle bloke even acknowledged it. Said, 'Each of Poe's stories is a root from which a whole style of literature has developed'. He was good chap, that Doyle. Met him once, at Edinburgh uni. He'd become agnostic. Said he modeled Sherlock Holmes after his professor Joseph Bell," Spike said idly, flipping through the pages and looking at some of the etchings that were included with the book.

"You knew Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?" the Watcher exclaimed in amazement, sitting down on the edge of the coffee table.

He looked up at Giles' eager face. "Thought you were gonna make a cup o'joe?"

Giles had the grace to look abashed. "Yes, yes… quite right." He moved into the kitchen, keeping an ear out for anything Spike might utter.

"Tosser," he grumbled under his breath when Giles was out of hearing range.

Spike was not pleased at the situation in which he found himself, his mind a jumble of thoughts from the inane to spectacularly brilliant ones. He could still feel twinges running amuck in his noggin and it made him feel wholly vulnerable to just about everyone and everything. His nosebleeds had stopped, but he felt it was just temporary. This thing inside him was going to cook his goose… and good.

He glanced up at the clock then over at the telly. _In an American home, the telly is on for seven hours and forty minutes every day_. Soddin' hell! He was even thinking useless random thoughts aloud in his head! What the fuck had these wankers done to him? ITime to drown out the noise./I Besides, Passions was coming on.

"It's telly time, Watcher!" he yelled towards the kitchen.

"In a moment, Spike."

He heard cups and saucers rattling around, as well as smelling the aroma of strong coffee wafting into the living room. He glanced up at the clock again… a few minuets had gone by and he was getting antsy.

"Watcher? Passions is on! Timmy's down the bloody well, and if you make me miss it, I'll-"

"You'll what, Spike? Lick me to death?" he huffed out as he sat down the tray laden with coffee, sugar, and cookies. Reaching behind the vamp, he dug down in between the sofa cushions and handed him the remote to the TV.

He grabbed it without so much as a thank you and turned it to the proper channel… or it would have been, had Jeopardy not been playing. "Fucking hell!" Spike roared.

Giles smothered a chuckle. "Not what you were expecting?"

His glare was frosty. "Sod off," he muttered.

'_This can be heard as far as twenty miles away,' _Alex Trebeck asked the contestants.

"What is thunder," Spike answered, his head leaning on his propped up hand, figuring he might as well watch something useful.

_'What is canon fire?'_ answered one of the contestants, a particularly dull-looking nerd with oversized glasses.

_'No, I'm sorry, Jason, that would be thunder,'_ Alex corrected.

'_This speedy dog also has the best eyesight,'_ was the next question.

"What is the greyhound," he answered, studying his chipped black nail polish in an obviously bored manner.

Giles turned and stared at a slouched Spike. He affected an uninterested attitude but he wasn't fooled as Spike was, once again, correct in his answer.

'_This was the first US college to admit women and African-Americans,'_ Alex offered.

Spike sighed. "What is Oberlin College in Ohio."

Giles watched in amazement as he answered question after question correctly, all while looking too tired to even care.

'_Fifty percent of all of these items printed in the US are never sold,'_ was another question.

"What are magazines," he mumbled as his eyes started to close in exhaustion.

"Spike, there's a spare bedroom that you may use… with the proviso that you strictly adhere to the rules which I am about to give you," Giles offered quietly.

"I'm listening." He yawned as his head was sounding up a killer of a headache.

"Verbal threats are one thing, but you may not, and I repeat may not harm anyone that comes into my house. Is that clear?"

"Is that the only hitch, Watcher?"

"By no means. If there is even so much as a hint of draining a victim, I don't care how vulnerable you are, I will stake you myself," he warned harshly.

"Startin' to sound like I might be beggin' to be staked compared to what might happen if I slip up." He didn't take anything the Watcher said at face value. This man would use the tiniest excuse to stake him and probably wouldn't take long to find one, even if manufactured.

"Just make sure you don't," was all Giles would say.

"What are you getting outta this, Rupes?" he sneered. "I know it ain't my pleasurable company. Is it by chance my handy dandy intellect?"

The older man cursed himself for being so transparent. "No… no, Spike… I… oh damn it," he spluttered.

Spike congratulated himself on catching Rupert in a lie. "Trittbrettfahrer, that's what you are," he said with a raised eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"I said Trittbrettfahrer, are you deaf? Its translation is 'running-board rider.' It's a term used for someone who benefits from someone else's hard work," he snorted, giving him a hard glare full of meaning.

"I-I never said-" he stuttered, trying to explain his actions.

"Come off it, Rupes! I might have all this garbage in my mind, but I was bloody perceptive before I got this… this… piece of shit shoved in my brain. That hasn't changed."

The sudden tension in the room mounted as Spike got up from the sofa and moved away. "I don't bloody know what's going on here, Watcher!" He was beginning to wear a path in the floorboards with his constant pacing. "I detest all of you, but I have to admit that I'm scared out of my bleedin' mind and have nowhere else to go."

There was a panicky quality that laced his voice and for the first time, Giles felt empathy for the unique vampire. Here he was, trying to adapt to a lifestyle not of his own making, and as with any sort of evolution of the species, pain was part of the growing process. Spike's despair, however, was not lost on Giles as he got up from his seat and laid a firm hand on his arm.

"I am reminded of a saying," he said in a softened his tone, bringing Spike's attention back to his.

"Gloriousness and wretchedness need each other. One inspires us, the other softens us. Your _plight _has not gone unnoticed, Spike."

He looked in the other Brit's eyes, searching for pity, but finding none. "Was that Socrates?" Spike choked out. "Cause he never wrote down a single word of his teachings." Bollocks! He couldn't even get emotional without some off the wall fact bombarding his battered mind. Dru was starting to look sane compared to him at this moment.

Giles smiled gently. "It doesn't matter. Why don't you get some sleep, I know you could use it."

He nodded solemnly and walked towards the stairs, turning at the foot to suggest a peace offering.

"May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house."

A full-throated laugh shook Giles as he watched the tired vampire walk slowly upstairs.


	3. Chapter 3

Buffy convinced Willow to accompany her on patrol that evening, feeling some fresh air and vampire stakeage would be of the good to help distract her from thinking of Oz. Besides, she herself needed to sort out her feelings in regards to the Giles and Spike situation. And Willow wisdom seemed just the thing.

"I mean, I can't believe he unlocked his chains just because of a little nose bleed. Wasn't like I've never made his nose bleed before," Buffy muttered for the fourth or fifth time that evening. She told Willow what had happened earlier that day, the story starting in disbelief but ending with outright contempt. "I think if Spike were a televangelist then Giles would be throwing money at him."

Barely registering that she'd stopped talking, Willow mumbled, "Maybe he's really sick, Buffy. I mean, Giles is pretty hard to fool… you know, him being Watchery and all," she finished lamely.

Buffy snorted. "Yeah, well… I think Spike has him snowed with his 'Rain Man' routine."

Willow said nothing, not in the mood to argue with anyone, especially Buffy. The only reason she'd gone on patrol was so she would stop bickering about Spike, to no avail. She wasn't listening to her anyway, aside from when she'd brought up the subject of Riley asking her out on a picnic to which she sighed internally. What she really wanted to do was crawl under the covers and sob her eyes out. Instead, she was in a dark, damp graveyard threatening vamps with good old dustiness and listening to Buffy blather on about things she was no longer interested in. Goddess, it just wasn't fair. Here she was, going on about three men in her life and Willow couldn't keep even one interested in her. Nope, it wasn't fair. Oh well, better ask the obligatory questions any good friend would ask.

"So, a picnic…" Willow started.

"Yeah, it's just, different, you know? A picnic. First of all, daylight - kind of a new venue, Buffy-wise. And the best part - he said he would bring all the food, so all I have to do is show up and eat. Those are two things I'm really good at."

"So he's nice?"

Buffy nodded enthusiastically. "Very, very."

Willow looked at her out of the corner of her eye. "And there's sparkage?" That 'very, very' statement sounded a bit… forced.

Once she started describing the supposed connection with Riley, it sounded too bland to her, like it was btoo/b normal. She imagined Buffy's quest for the ordinary stemmed from Angel leaving, something she still hadn't forgiven the broody vamp for, and also forcing herself to put on a brave face. She could see it now - IUpstanding, American hero-type boy meets college freshman girl who happens to be the Slayer, they date and canoodle, then she squeezes the life out of him with a bear hug. End of 'normal' for Buffy./I

"Yeah, he's… have you seen his arms? Those are good arms to have. I really like him. I do."

IOz had wonderful arms/I, Willow thought sadly. IArms that won't ever hold me again./I She was about to tear up, but composed herself in time, thinking over her friend's last statement. It sounded plain, like when a girl says a guy is 'nice.' So she questioned her on it. "But?"

Buffy hesitated. "I don't know. I really like being around him, you know? And I think he cares about me… but… I just-" She turned and staked a vamp that had suddenly jumped out at them from behind a bush. "I just feel like something's missing," she continued without missing a beat.

Willow watched the dust settle over her shoulder. "It's the fact that he's not making you miserable, isn't it?" She had a suspicion.

"Exactly! Riley seems so solid, like he wouldn't cause me heartache." INot like Angel/I was left unsaid.

"Get out. Get out while there's still time!" the redhead said with feigned worry. Maybe if she'd gotten out sooner with Oz then she could've avoided the heartache. As it was, she was barely holding on to any semblance of being interested in life.

Buffy smiled at her dramatic response. "I know… I have to get away from that bad boy thing. There's no good there… too painful."

Willow bit her lip, hard. She wouldn't cry, she would NOT cry. "Yeah, pain is not a friend."

Buffy continued to talk, oblivious to her friend's emotional state. She was on a roll and heaven forbid anyone that happened to be in the way of the freight train that was the Slayer. "But I can't help thinking, isn't that where the fire comes from? Can a nice, safe relationship be that intense? I know its nuts, but… part of me believes that real love and passion have to go hand in hand with pain and fighting."

"Like you and Spike," Willow offered as an example.

"What?" She stopped abruptly and stared at her best friend as if she'd grown horns and a tail.

Willow turned to look back at her. "Like you and Spike?" This time it sounded more like a suggestion than actual fact.

"That bleached pest? Until he became an overnight savant, he was on everyone's do-not-call list!" Buffy fumed. First Giles and now Willow. The only thing she had in common with Spike was the pain and fighting, not the love and passion.

Willow held out her hands in a flustered gesture as she neared her breaking point. "Buffy, you're always fighting with him, physically and otherwise. You cause each other enough pain to put an iron maiden to shame and you both live and love so passionately. So really, not seeing the difference here."

"Wills, you-you can't seriously compare-" she spluttered.

"Stop! I-I… I can't do this anymore," Willow whimpered and ran off in the direction of the campus.

Buffy started to run after her, but a strong arm hauled her back, bracing her body against something solid.

Outrage and fury swept over the Slayer as she turned with her stake held high, coming face to face with the earlier topic of conversation. "Spike," she spat. "Let me go, or I swear you'll wish you'd stayed with the Commandos," she seethed venomously, stake poised over his unbeating heart.

Without thinking, Spike grabbed her wrist and shook it hard enough that she dropped the stake. Burning hot pain seared through his frontal lobe as he released her, stumbling backwards and hitting a grave marker. "Bloody fucking hell!"

She quickly retrieved the stake then took up a fighting stance; her hand poised to strike as she watched him slowly gathered his wits. "What are you doing here, Spike?" Giles may let the rabid dog run loose, but she had no reservations about dusting his ass.

He smeared the blood that trickled from his nose across his face, trying to wipe it off as he clutched his forehead, swaying slightly on his feet. Buffy frowned as he staggered towards her.

He reached blindly for something that wasn't moving to hold on to which just happened to be Buffy's arm. "God, Slayer… feel like I'm three sheets to the wind," he moaned leaning his head on her arm.

"Three who's to the what?" she asked confused, her guard slightly lowered.

"Three sheets to the wind," he muttered again, shifting to an upright position, his balance still precarious as he clutched her arm. She had a blank look on her face.

"Drunk," he clarified, then noticing he still had his hand on her arm, he abruptly he let go. He didn't want another round of crispy fried Spike brains, because frankly, he was surprised he had anything left to think with.

"What do sheets have to do with being drunk? I thought being drunk was mostly about drowning your sorrows or an ex-wife stealing the car and driving to Texas sort of thing – you know, something depressing like that," she asked, relaxing her stance once she realized Spike couldn't hurt her in the state he was in now as he could barely stand. Maybe Willow was right… maybe this thing was making him ill.

"In the seafaring world, pet, ropes with different functions are given names. For example..." He raised his fingers, ticking them off with each fact. "Halyards raise and lower sails." He lowered a second finger. "Sheets hold the sails upright." He grimaced as a phantom pain flitted across his face, clearing his throat to continue. "If a sheet is loose, the sail slaps in the wind and the ship becomes unsteady. Having two sheets loose to the wind is a big problem. Having three sheets to the wind will make the ship rock and reel like a drunken sailor." Having finished his explanation, he searched his pocket for his lighter and smokes.

Buffy stared at him, wide-eyed, her mouth hanging open as she finally took a moment to look at Spike. His cheeks were hollow; more so than usual, and there were black circles under his eyes, not just dark ones. Black. His eyes were sunken a little in the sockets as starvation drew his skin taut over his face. She watched him light the cigarette, noticing his hands shaking, then observed his belt was notched a couple inches tighter than the last time she looked at him. In essence, he was a shell of his former "Big Bad" self.

He pulled a long drag from his cigarette and without realizing what he was doing, blew it straight towards Buffy. "Oh, sorry 'bout that, pet!" He moved further away, rubbing his temples to ease the throbbing.

"If you were alive, those things would kill you." She coughed, waving the smoke away from her face.

"If a pack-a-day smoker inhaled a week's worth of nicotine all at once, they'd die instantly," he said off handedly.

She frowned in confusion. "Spike, where are you coming up with this stuff?"

He shrugged slightly and looked off in the distance. "Don't rightly know, Slayer. Didn't start 'til I woke up, staring at the tiles in the Watcher's bathroom." He turned his focus back to her. "But it makes me mighty fearful," he admitted quietly.

She raised her eyebrows in astonishment at Spike's confession, but remained silent, sensing he had more to say on the matter.

He pondered long and hard on what he could tell her, pacing as the words jumbled out. "It's like a pressure building in my head, right? An' every time that bleedin'… contraption fires, it feels like my brain's going to explode. Lose all sense of myself." His pacing slowed and he stood by her side, staring off into the graveyard. "Then all this bleedin' nonsense starts up in my brain and my mouth starts going and after a bit… I don't know what the hell I've said, let alone what I've done." He turned to look at her, eyes shining with unshed tears. "They took away my ability to survive, Slayer. Don't think they'll stop 'til they finish the job."

Compassion edged its way into her heart, albeit reluctantly. Here was someone that had been yanked from his only known existence and forced to change overnight. It was a little like being called to be the Slayer. One moment she was a happy, carefree teenager worried about the latest trend or fashion. The next, she was scrubbing greasy vampire dust from her clothes in the middle of the night so her mother wouldn't find out. Yeah, she could relate to the sudden change of lifestyle.

"You never answered my question of why you're here, Spike. Does Giles know?"

"Watcher's the one that sent me, thought you could use some help with patrol. Maybe flash some fang here or there, put the fear of-"

"I don't think you'll be much use to me, fangless wonder - you can't even kill a demon," she countered before he went further.

She watched his face fall for a fraction of a second before he regrouped, shutting her out coldly. Sighing heavily, she knew she had better things to do than baby-sit a neutered vampire that couldn't defend himself - like finding Willow. Without thinking too hard on why she was doing it, she dug around in her pocket and pulled out some money, handing it to a confused looking Spike.

"US paper money is seventy-five percent cotton and twenty-five percent silk," he muttered, looking at her.

Shaking her head in pity, she reached up and tenderly rubbed her thumb under one of his baby-blues. "You have black circles under you eyes. You need to feed more." She shoved the hand holding the money towards him. "Get some blood at the butchers."

"Buffy…" he started, afraid he was going to fall apart.

She held up her hand. "Don't."

He nodded silently and backed away.

"Besides, I like being able to see your blue eyes without the black," she whispered and turned to run in the opposite direction.

Spike watched her run out of the cemetery towards campus. "Blue eyes simply have less pigment in them than brown eyes, pet," he said to her departing form.

He pocketed the cash she'd given him and headed towards town to find the nearest butcher shop, pondering the mystery that was Buffy Summers.


	4. Chapter 4

Willow ran like the hounds of hell were chasing her, tears streaming down her cheeks. She ran straight for the room Oz used to stay in, knowing some of his things were still there after he'd left. She wanted to bury herself in his blanket, in his smell… to make her forget that he was truly gone, so she didn't stop running until she slammed up against the door and immediately began fumbling with the knob. Opening it revealed the room to be stripped bare - all his clothes, furniture, and posters… gone. The place was empty, like her heart.

She numbly backed out and slowly trudged over to her own dorm hall, noticing nothing as she went along her way. She opened the door to the room she shared with Buffy and found it just as empty. IProbably still going on about Riley to some poor vamp who can't wait for her to stake him fast enough/I, she thought, sinking faster into depression. It never registered with her that she'd left her best friend alone in a cemetery, even if she was the Slayer.

Moving around the place in slow motion, she felt like she had sand bags strapped to her ankles, every step an effort that robbed her ability to stay in control of her emotions. Finally finding her pajamas, she slipped them on haphazardly and crawled beneath the covers, staring into nothingness for long moments before exhaustion took her away to the blissful oblivion that was sleep.

Long after midnight, Buffy quietly opened the door, hoping Willow was tucked away in her bed. She'd searched all over campus for her, even stopping by Oz's old room to find Devon, telling her the not so good news. No reason was given and Devon wouldn't disclose the location, only that Oz sent for his stuff. Had Willow already known? Was that why she was getting worse? Spying her sleeping form, she breathed a sigh of relief and crept through the room, putting on her own pajamas and slipping into bed hoping she would be able to talk to her in the morning. For now, all she wanted was sleep… and to forget about a haunted pair of blue eyes.

~*~

Sunlight tickled Buffy's nose and she slowly opened one eye only to immediately close it as the light hit her face full force. She rolled over to see if Willow was still asleep and saw her huddled form, staring out into emptiness, tears slowly leaking down her cheek and softly plopping onto the pillow.

Buffy's heart lurched and she shifted the covers to get up. Without saying a word, she got into bed behind Willow and draped her arm around her, pulling her in for a cuddle. Her friend was cold and unresponsive so she began rubbing her hands up and down her arms to get them warm. Buffy felt her relax slightly so she continued until Willow went limp. Then, as if a damn had burst, Willow started shaking with silent cries of pure misery.

Buffy sat up and leaned against the headboard, pulling Willow's head into her lap to stroke her hair tenderly, watching as her best friend poured out all her sorrows. She clutched at Buffy's pajama pant leg and ground her face into them, sobbing uncontrollably as Buffy just held on tight and said nothing. Finally, after a great long while, her cries subsided to whimpers and then finally to sniffles.

"Oz is gone," she said in a shaky, watery voice.

"Devon said that he sent for his stuff. I guess that means he's planning on settling down somewhere else," Buffy gently explained.

"Not here," she mumbled.

Buffy shrugged her shoulders. "I guess so." She continued to stroke Willow's hair away from her tear stained, blotchy face.

"I feel like I've been split down the center and half of me is lost," she whimpered.

"I know. It feels like that now-" Buffy started.

"No! It'll always feel like this! I've got pain, here. Big-time legitimate pain," Willow cut her off, becoming upset again.

"I know. It's just how it is. You have to go through the pain," she tried to explain.

"Like you did with Angel? I'd rather be spared that little trip of self inflicted torture, thanks very much," Willow shot back as she crawled out of bed.

Buffy froze. "That's not fair, Willow. Look, I know you're hurting, God knows I do, but I promise you, it will get better. It's just gonna take time."

Willow sat on Buffy's bed and faced her, an apologetic look on her face. "Sorry… it's just… I just can't stand feeling this way. I want it to be over."

"It will be, I promise," she reiterated.

"I just wish there was something I could do to make it go away. Can't I just make it go… bpoof/b?"

Buffy's eyes bulged. "No! Um, I mean no, that wouldn't be a good idea, Wills." Magic and love were un-mixy things in the Buffy world.

Willow looked at her strangely. "How were you able to go on after Angel?" She'd always been curious about that.

"I didn't. It hasn't been easy for a very, very long time," she admitted. Truth be told, she didn't think she'd ever get over him… not really.

"So what finally happened?" Willow asked as she curled her legs up under her.

"Well, it's more of a he's there and I'm here thingy. Absence does NOT make the heart grow fonder… just makes it hurt a bit less is all. When you're not faced with the thing you want so badly everyday, it makes it easier to let go."

"Oz isn't here, not anymore. Maybe that'll make it easier," Willow said quietly, gazing out the window.

"Probably." An idea suddenly occurred to Buffy. "Hey, wanna come with to the picnic with Riley?" She didn't want to leave Willow alone, not like this.

She shook her head no. "I don't want to be a third wheel and I need to do some homework anyway."

"Okay, then how about Bronzing tonight? I think Xander and Anya will be there. Both of your best friends in one place and you can't get any happier than that!"

Willow smiled in spite of herself. "Yeah, sure. Bronzing is always of the good."

"Great!" Buffy squeaked. "I'll come back for you after I check on Giles."

Willow frowned. "Why would you need to check on Giles?"

She chewed on her lip. "I just wanna make sure that Spike hasn't done… well, I just wanna make sure they're both alright… okay?"

The redhead's eyes widened. "They haven't done anything to themselves, have they? I mean, I know what you told me last night, and I was supposed to get those ingredients for that truth spell, but… you don't suppose… they did a murder suicide thing, do you?" she asked in a hushed tone.

Buffy snorted in laughter. "For a murder suicide, one of them would need to be capable of doing harm to the other. For now, though… Giles seems oddly attached to him. And Spike? Well, he… to perfectly blunt, he seems more pathetic than usual. It's way weird."

"Do you think something really happened to Spike when he was with the Commandos?"

"Yes," Buffy replied without hesitation. She'd never seen Spike in so much pain, even when they were fighting. The haunted look he'd given her last night when he confessed that he, the 'Big Bad' was scared, wouldn't leave her alone.

"If you'd seen the look in his eyes, Willow… you'd know that something major happened to him. I mean, he can't even Ithink/I of hurting someone without going all spacey and paralyzed. And God, the blood… it's like someone stuck a cattle prod up his nose and played scrambled eggs with his brain," she explained in detail.

Willow gulped at the imagery. "So how's he gonna survive if Giles set him free?"

"I gave him some money for the butcher," Buffy murmured so low that Willow barely heard her.

"What? I didn't quite catch that." She leaned forward.

"I said… I gave him some money for the butcher." Buffy hid her face, not wanting to see the look of condemnation that would surely be on Willow's face.

There was a long pause before Buffy finally looked up to see her friend smirking.

"What?"

"Oh nothing," Willow said nonchalantly, shaking her head in amusement.

"Oh no you don't, missy! That's not an boh nothing/b look you have. Just what are you smirking about?" Willow was going to drive her crazy.

"I just think it's sweet the way you helped Spike."

"I did not help Spike! I just didn't want him sizing up Giles' neck is all," she corrected.

"Uh-huh." She wasn't convinced. Her bland conversation about Riley the night before hinted at something else when the subject suddenly shifted to Spike.

Buffy glared at her. "I did not help Spike, end of conversation." She jumped off Willow's bed and started gathering her toiletries for the communal shower room.

Willow watched her in silent contemplation. She knew Buffy always had a soft spot for people who couldn't take care of themselves or were going through a rough patch. Maybe that's what it was… with Spike. But, she also had a feeling it was something more than that, something her intuition kept niggling at the back of her mind about her friend's behavior… and attitude about said vampire.

"I'll catch you around seven, okay?" Buffy said as she headed out the door, not even waiting for Willow's answer.

IAnd she's off again/I, Willow thought, looking at the closed door.

Nearly forgetting she herself needed to contact Giles, she picked up the phone to dial his number. A very sleepy Watcher answered.

"Giles, it's me, Willow… do you still need me to pick up supplies for a truth spell?"

"Um, no… did Buffy not tell you that it wouldn't be necessary?" he sounded confused.

"Oh, um, no… she didn't. Why don't you need one? Did Spike give you the low down, the skinny, the-"

"Yes, I understand and no, not quite." He rolled his eyes even though Willow couldn't see it. "His progress with this… affliction is slow, but improving. I honestly don't think it would be wise to use magic on the poor chap at the moment."

This was officially it; the day Hell froze over. Giles was feeling pity for a vampire. Wonders never ceased, at least not on the Hellmouth.

"Okay… i-if you're sure."

"For the time being, yes. So how are you coping, Willow? I know that you're going through a very difficult time. I'm a bit concerned about you."

Her voice took on a panicked quality. "Did Buffy tell you about me running off?"

"Buffy didn't tell me anything," he quietly intoned.

"Oh, good! Forget the running off and leaving Buffy alone in a cemetery part," she quickly covered up.

"She wasn't alone, Willow. I sent Spike to check up on her."

Now she was really confused. "Why would you send a vampire to check up on the Slayer, Giles?" Wasn't that a bit risky even though Spike was chipped?

"We came to a mutual agreement and he's allowed a bit more freedom in exchange for helping me out now and then. Plus, he was driving me insane with his irritating restlessness. Since Buffy can handle herself quite well, I saw no harm really. She would've dusted him if he'd given her cause to."

"Um, yeah. Well, it's always slightly evil peaches and cream here on the campus front."

"Are you sure? Spike expressed concern over your emotional status last night, he felt that you were… hanging on by a thread," Giles quoted the vampire's words.

Willow was shocked. Why would Spike be concerned about her? And how did he know what she was feeling at the time? "Uh, well I… I've been off. I-I even thought about doing a spell to have my will be done, hoping it would make me feel better, but Buffy said I just needed to get through the pain."

Giles blew out a breath. "That's good that you didn't, Willow. I don't think it's wise for you to be doing that right now. Your energy's too unfocused."

She took offense at that. "Well, that's not true. I said I was off, not incompetent."

"I only meant that you're grieving, and it might be wise if you took a break from doing spells for the time being," he said more gently, realizing she was distraught, as Spike had indicated. It would do no good to get her upset again.

"So I get punished because I'm in pain?" She sniffled, tears gathering in her eyes again.

"No, no, dear, it's not a punishment. Its caution that comes with wisdom from past mistakes, that's all."

"Well, I'm just doing the best that I can, sorry if it's not enough for you guys. Sorry for the inconvenience," she muttered angrily as she hung up on him.

The phone began ringing again, but Willow refused to answer it. She didn't need Giles telling her what she should or shouldn't do - he wasn't her father! She could do spells if she wanted. Gathering her clothes to get ready for the day, she grabbed her towel and headed for the showers… saying a little spell before she shut the door.

"Tempus vernum veritas." IOnly time will tell the truth./I

That was focused enough even for the goddess Hecate herself.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey, thanks, Riley," a girl called out over her shoulder as he stepped down the ladder from hanging a sign up in the lobby of the campus hall.

Riley nodded in appreciation. "Looks good, Amber."

Buffy stood behind his hulking form, looking between the sign and him. IInteresting/I.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" she joked as Riley spun around at the sound of her voice.

"Oh, hey! Buffy… What?" At first he was surprised, then confused.

She looked towards the banner, hoping he'd catch on. He did, but it took a moment for him to realize what the actual joke was.

"Oh, yes. I'm a lesbian," he answered in all seriousness.

She quirked an eyebrow at the statement. "Well, it's good that you're so open about it."

He smiled and started walking with her through the lounge. "So we were talking about having a picnic…" he started.

"We were talking about having a picnic? I thought we'd already decided to have munchies at Rhodes Field?" Now she was confused. Hadn't they already discussed this the other day?

"Okay, yes. I guess we did talk about that. I… I guess I never got a definite vibe from you, that's all. It's just… It's not easy, you know, talking to you sometimes. It's like an oral exam," he explained, getting flustered.

She grimaced in distaste. Ugh, mental images not so good. "Boy… that's just what every girl longs to hear," she replied dryly, trying not to heave.

Riley attempted to cover up his faux pas. "I never know how you're going to react to something. I think that's why I like you so much - you're such a mystery. Probably every beautiful girl in the world has some jerk telling her she's a mystery, but… I swear, you really are. There's a lot about you that needs puzzling out."

"I need puzzling out?" Her eyebrows shot up. Oh no, he sounded like a 'fixer' type. Point one against him.

"Did you just miss the bbeautiful girl/b part? See, all women are mysterious – it's what makes them so intriguing," he said suavely. He could turn on the boyish charm when need be.

"So, about that picnic…" she hesitated, trying to distract him from the topic of mysterious, beautiful women. She wasn't ready for that kind of relationship with someone bnormal/b, wanting to avoid another heartbreak and get a better sense of him. Besides, she didn't feel like fending off grabby hands if he got them.

There was also something that struck her as odd. She'd had a headache for the last few hours, the throbbing increasing slightly the moment she met up with Riley. She went over a mental checklist to see if there was something she'd done or ate that might have caused it because she'd never remembered having one. Something was off. Was it the late night? No, she'd had those all the time… sometimes never even going to bed. The stressful conversation with Willow? She didn't think so as she was fine when Buffy went to take a shower, and she wasn't there before she left for the day. She glanced at Riley and saw his lips moving, figuring she'd better pay attention if she was ever to get to know him.

Apparently, Riley had changed the topic and was leading her towards the quad with a small basket and blanket in hand. Wait… where'd he get the basket? What had he said? She couldn't recall what happened after finding him in the student lounge and how she'd gotten to the point where they'd been walking for some time. She couldn't even remember if she answered him at all. God, was her memory shot to hell as well? Probably should ask Giles about this when she stopped by later that evening.

They camped out near a full shade tree and Riley popped open several dishes, handing one to Buffy. Apples. IOh, yummy/I, she thought blandly.

"Um, if you don't like them, I have grapes," he offered, a slightly hurt expression on his face.

Buffy's eyes shot to his. "What?"

"It's just that you said, oh, yummy, like you didn't really want apples. So I offered grapes," he said apologetically for the unwanted fruit.

Panic raced through Buffy. She did not just say that aloud! She only thought it, right? Oh, God, she was confused! She looked at a very perplexed Riley, hesitantly smiled and took an apple slice and popped it into her mouth. "See? I like," she said around a mouthful of the very thing she absolutely detested.

"Um, okay." Riley scratched his head, thinking she was one strange girl.

Buffy hoped she didn't look as miserable as she felt. The apple was sour and she almost gagged after swallowing it. She grinned widely - too widely. "So…" she started awkwardly, not knowing anything that would be of interest to him. She couldn't really tell him about her life as Slayer stuff was strictly off limits.

"Do you like driving?" he asked, trying to bring up any new topic that might interest her.

"Driving," she deadpanned. Was he serious?

His eyebrows drew together in a frown. "Uh, yeah?"

"You actually drive for fun?" Who in their right mind drove for fun?

"Well, not four-wheeling or anything, but yeah. Don't you?" he questioned, not believing that she didn't go on at least one little pleasure trip.

She snorted. "Actually, no-wheeling is more my specialty. I'm an avid pedestrian," she proclaimed proudly. "Cars and Buffy are un-mixy things."

"You're kidding, right? I mean, you know how to drive," he practically scoffed.

Buffy frowned at him. Was that a subtle put down? "Well, I took the class-" she started to explain, but he cut her off.

"It's just because you haven't had a good experience yet. You can have the best time in a car. It's not about getting somewhere. You have to take your time. Forget about everything. Just… relax. Let it wash over you. The air… motion… Just, let it roll," he tempted, leaning closer to her as his words took on a different meaning than what he started out with. He waggled his eyebrows and she couldn't help but laugh.

IOnly Spike could pull that off and get away with being sexy about it/I, she thought to herself, comparing the two men.

"Who's Spike?" Riley questioned peevishly.

The air between them shifted as the situation became tense. Buffy gulped like a fish and floundered in her answer. "Um, well… you see, he's this, uh, guy that keeps hanging around me and my friends, and… well… he seems to be down on his luck at the moment." This brought her straight out of the denial she loved to lose herself in. Since when did she think of Spike on those terms? As sexy even? IOh my God, what is happening to me/I, she questioned frantically. IAnd how is Riley able to hear my thoughts/I?!?!

"Buffy, I can't read your mind, though I imagine there's quite a bit going on in there," he answered her unspoken question. "But your lips did move."

She stared at him in shock. "I'm actually all with the talking here?"

God, what a strange woman. "Um, yeah… at first you were talking about how sexy this Spike person is, then you worried about what is happening to you and me supposedly hearing your thoughts. Is this Spike person bothering you, is that why you're worried? Do you need me to speak to him or something?"

"I thought we were talking about driving," she said blankly, her mind focused on something other than the conversation they were having.

"I bthought/b I was."

"Um, I think I'd better go… you know, term paper and all." She became flustered as she picked up her things to flee the scene quickly, leaving an utterly mystified Riley wondering just whom this Spike was.

~*~

Giles finally forwent paper to take notes on what Spike was spouting out, instead using a small hand held tape recorder so he could write it all down at his leisure inside his Watcher's diary. He was just scribbling down the latest information when Buffy suddenly burst into the flat.

"Giles! Something is so totally wrong with me!" she cried frantically.

Throwing his pen down in exasperation at the interruption, he sighed loudly and started rubbing his eyes. "What is it now?"

She stood next to his desk wringing her hands nervously. "Something's going on, I can feel it!" she said anxiously without further explanation.

"Can you be a bit more specific?" he queried motioning his hands wide for her to elaborate.

"See, I was at this mildly amusing picnic with Riley, right? And, and… I thought about not liking apples and then he offered me grapes… and then he started saying how Spike has a sexy waggle with his eyebrows and-and…" she spluttered, going on until she had to stop and catch her breath.

"Wait, just wait a moment. This Riley thought Spike was sexy while eating grapes and apples?" The disturbing images she was describing were too much for him, her babbling making no sense whatsoever.

She rolled her eyes. "No! I was thinking those things and it was like bpoof/B, he could hear me saying it… out loud, Giles… Out. Loud!"

His brow creased in a deep, confused frown. "You thought Spike was sexy while he was eating grapes and apples?"

She huffed in disgust. IHe's as thick as those glasses of his/I, she mused, irritated beyond belief.

"I beg your pardon, young lady!"

"See? That's what I'm talking about! I bknow/b I didn't say those words, they were just in my head… but you heard them, right?" She was nodding enthusiastically.

"Buffy, I saw your lips move. And I have no psychic powers, so I couldn't have read your thoughts." He glared at her, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall leading to the kitchen.

"But, but… I didn't bhear/b myself say them, Giles! I swear on my Calvin Klein purse," she pleaded.

Giles wiped his face and sighed, feeling he had better things to do than search from some reason that his Slayer thought others could hear her thoughts. "Alright, alright Buffy. We'll see what we can come up with." As an afterthought, he questioned, "Have you talked to Willow today? She was rather upset when I last spoke with her."

"A little bit this morning, but I haven't seen her since then. We're supposed to meet up in a couple hours for some major Bronzage. I was going to check on you and Spike later in the evening, but this seemed a little bit more urgent," she said hesitantly.

"Yes, quite."

"By the way, where is the victim of circumstance?" she asked, leaning against the couch.

"He's asleep actually. He's quite exhausted." He waved his hand in the direction of the stairs as he went back to his writing.

Noticing Giles was deeply involved in whatever he was doing, Buffy crept up the staircase and tip-toed down the hall.

She stopped at the top step, hearing the strumming of a guitar. The door to the spare bedroom was slightly ajar and she could just barely see Spike sitting on the bed, guitar in hand, quietly strumming. So quiet, in fact, she had to get closer to hear him better. She leaned against the doorframe, listening.

Spike heard and felt the Slayer enter the flat, knowing any kind of sleep he was struggling to get would be lost. His thoughts had been a mess as of late, notwithstanding the extra boost to his extensive memory. And while this girl's kindness hadn't gone unnoticed, it also made him start to feel things that maybe he shouldn't. He'd made a tentative truce with the Watcher in exchange for any information that unwillingly spilled out of this brain and earned a spark of pity from the girl who was now camped outside of the door listening to him strum on a guitar he'd spied in the closet. Probably from Giles' hippie days, no doubt. Hearing the strings vibrate kept the wild thoughts at bay, so he continued softly, choosing a song that, if he had more courage, he'd sing to her, hoping to garner something a little more than pity.

IIt was an English ladye bright,

The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,

And she would marry a Scottish knight,

For Love will still be lord of all./I

Buffy's breath hitched as she heard him sing softly, closing her eyes and letting herself drift away with his words to a different time, a different place. She sunk down to sit against the wall and pulled her legs up to her chin.

IBlithely they saw the rising sun

When he shone fair on Carlisle wall;

But they were sad ere day was done,

Though Love was still the Lord of all./I

His nimble fingers plucked the strings in an aching, longing manner, bringing forth all the emotions the beautiful tune evoked.

IHer sire gave brooch and jewel fine,

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall;

Her brother gave but a flask of wine,

For ire that Love was lord of all.

For she had lands both meadow and lea,

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,

For he swore her death, ere he would see

A Scottish knight the lord of all./I

A small gasp escaped Buffy's mouth before she realized it. The strumming abruptly stopped, and she froze.

"Come in, Slayer," Spike bid her quietly.

She nudged the door open slightly and peeked in. "Sorry," she offered.

"'S okay, pet." He continued to strum idly, no tune in particular, not looking at her as she moved about the room.

She glanced at the fading light through the drawn curtains, knowing she'd have to leave soon to meet up with Willow. As she spied the chair across from the bed, she realized that her headache had eased considerably since she'd crept upstairs. IHuh… guess music does soothe the savage headache/I, she mused lightly.

Spike glanced up as she sat in the overstuffed chair across from him. "What's that, luv?"

She narrowed her eyes but relaxed when he didn't press further, returning to his strumming. Hoping he'd continue the song, she worried her lip and worked up the nerve to ask him how the tale ended. "Was her brother really out to kill her just because she loved someone she shouldn't?" she asked shyly.

He looked at her in surprise, seeing that she was eagerly awaiting his answer. "Could sing the rest if you want, Slayer," he suggested. Seeing her nod, he continued from where he'd left off.

IThat wine she had not tasted well

The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall

When dead, in her true love's arms she fell,

For Love was still the lord of all!/I

She leaned forward, her face a picture of angst as she ghosted graceful fingers over her lips, silently shaking her head no. Spike nodded sadly.

IHe pierced her brother to the heart,

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall-

So perish all would true love part

That Love may still be lord of all!/I

She smiled tremulously, her eyes turning misty.

IAnd then he took the cross divine,

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,

And died for her sake in Palestine;

So Love was still the lord of all./I

A small sniffle brought his attention back to Buffy, a single tear sliding down her cheek, and his heart clenched in his chest at the sight before him. Taking a chance, he revealed a small portion of the feelings that were starting to take root within him as he pleaded the last stanza to her specifically.

INow all ye lovers, that faithful prove,

The sun shines down on Carlisle wall

Pray for their souls, who died for love,

For Love shall still be lord of all!/I

He quieted the guitar and laid it aside on the bed, watching her eyes as they took on an otherworldly quality, staring at him with stray tears wetting her lashes. She was within reaching distance, so he lightly took her hand and idly rubbed the back of it with his thumb. "Pet, you okay?" he asked concerned.

She nodded mutely, swiping her tears away. "It was just a really sad song, Spike… sorry." She sniffled some more.

He patted the back of her hand and smiled gently. "That it was, luv, that it was."

IGod, I wish I could find that sort of love/I, her traitorous thoughts ran through her mind unbidden as she looked at Spike.

Head cocked to the side, not believing he'd heard her right, he closed his eyes and deeply breathed in her scent. "Buffy, what did you say?"

It was hearing her name that snapped her back to reality. Following the train of the day's events, and the likelihood her deepest thoughts were audible to those around her, she groaned. "Oh no."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry, I didn't realize that my italics didn't show up in previous chapters, and I'm sure it looked funky to those who read it. Fixed now! :D Thank you for the reviews!

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Buffy pulled her hand out of Spike's grasp and cradled it as if she'd been burned. "Nothing. I said nothing," she quickly lied. There was no way on God's green earth that she was going to admit to anything until she knew what was happening to her - and even then, it was debatable.

As she said the words, a faint buzzing began in the back of her head and continued until it was a dull ache that centered between her eyes. "Ugh," she grimaced and dropped her head between her knees to keep from heaving.

Spike was completely bewildered at her actions. First she spies on him while he's trying to calm down from the jumbled thoughts in his head, then she's going on about finding someone to love her while staring at him, next she's wanting to empty her stomach… on his Docs. _Chit's gone barmy_, he thought to himself.

"I have **not** gone barmy… whatever that is," she groaned from between her legs, slowly raising her head until she was eye level with him. Gone was the softness from the moment before, a glint of steel now replacing the sympathy Spike thought he'd glimpsed.

"I didn't say anything, Slayer," he spoke slowly. How in the hell did she know what he was thinking? As if he didn't have enough problems on his bloody plate, now heap on the fact that the Slayer could pick up what his mind was broadcasting? Unnerving at the least!

She narrowed her eyes at him and frowned. "Yes, you did! You said I'd gone barmy, plain as day," she protested. "What does barmy mean, anyway?"

He quickly got up and edged towards a corner of the room, uncomfortable with the downturn in her mood, not liking the situation one bit. "Means crazy," he explained, backing into a corner. If she attacked at least he wouldn't have to worry about what was behind him. He didn't have to wait long.

"Crazy? You think **I'm** the crazy one? Look at you, mister Fountain-of-Knowledge-I-can't-shut-off!" She was advancing on him, waving her arms wildly about. "I'm not the one who has to depend on people I hate for my survival. I'm not the fangless demon who can't get a bite to eat, because **I** would've left town before being captured!" She was close now, punctuating every nasty sentence with a poke to his sunken chest.

He could honestly say he hated her very much at this moment.

With a deadly gleam in his eyes, nostrils flaring, he began stepping towards her, forcing her to retreat instead of him. "I know how to survive, Slayer, even if it means having to bunk down with the enemy. You and your pious lot think you know everything, yeah? Don't know jack-shit… not about livin'! If you'd pull that stick out that's so far up your arse you might be able to do just that… live. Quit tryin' to make everything you know about life, which is nil, fit into two categories. What Buffy thinks is right and what Buffy thinks is wrong. There are other bpeople/b in the world, Slayer. Get it through your thick skull! No matter how hard you try to get rid of me or beat me half to death, you'll always lose… `cause the truth scares you and I don't back down!" he roared.

Too close - he was too close… to her, to the truth, to breaking a piece of the ten-foot wall she'd erected around her heart when Angel left. He may be down on his luck, but with his strong determination not to be defeated, she realized he was biding his time until he got his old self back. So she did what she had to… to protect herself, she reasoned.

He saw it coming and closed his eyes; her backhand slammed across his cheek with such power, it sent him flying across the room, landing him on the bed… out cold. She walked out the door without a backward glance and went downstairs where Giles was waiting for her, arms crossed, face stern.

"Was that really necessary?" he asked dryly.

She crossed her own arms and glared just as hard. "Giles, I seriously don't know what you're doing with Spike, but it needs to end. I'm unconvinced he's not a threat."

"If that is your stance, then you can take him with you when you go to the Bronze this evening." He smirked and watched her turn three shades of fuming red.

"What?! No! That is so not happening! There'll be lots of bmeals on wheels/b as he puts it, and I will bnot/b risk other people's lives just to keep his bleached Highness among the undead living," she ground out. Really, this… relationship between the two Brits was odd beyond extreme. "Giles, has Spike used any kind of thrall on you?" That was the only explanation she could think of that would keep him in constant company with the vampire menace.

"Of course not!" he refuted indignantly. "Spike has no such ability, not one that's been documented at least. No, no, Buffy… Spike is in possession of valuable information, and I feel it would be remiss of me if I didn't document as much as I could. The Council's views on everything could be altered with his knowledge." Giles' eyes took on a feverish light, a Gollum-type of obsession.

_Oh great, the only thing missing is him saying Spike is my precious_. She frowned, shivering at that thought.

He whipped around, stared at her, and curtly replied, "I hardly think I would ever say such a thing, especially about Spike."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Ugh, I really need to stop with this thinking out loud crap."

"Couldn't agree more," he said in disgust as he dismissed her and went back to his desk to pick up writing once again.

After a few tense moments of silence, Giles looked back in her direction, noticing Spike standing on the bottom step of the staircase, dried blood crusted over his now purple cheekbone. He started to say something to Buffy about her treatment of the vampire in his care when Spike shook his head imperceptibly in the negative.

Pursing his lips with a frown, Giles ordered in a tone that brooked no argument, "Buffy, you'll take Spike with you this evening to the Bronze and then on patrol."

"But, Giles," she huffed.

"'S okay, Rupes…" Spike said quietly behind Buffy. "`S better to be alone than in bad company."

She tensed and turned to see him watching her in an eerily detached way, a purple bruise mottling his pale face. Tinglies aside, she should have know that he'd been there… because the headache that began pulsing when she'd lied to him eased considerably when he was near. Okay, this was too much! _I am going barmy! His closeness shouldn't have an affect on my migraine, it's just not possible!_. Maybe it was best to keep him in sight, as the headache would be a major disadvantage during patrol. If Spike kept the pain at bay, and she definitely didn't want to dwell on why he did, then she'd just have to keep his undead ass… well… undead.

Hearing her thoughts, Spike frowned as he realized she hadn't moved her lips – he was actually picking up the chatter in her brain. _Well, bugger me!_

"Fine. He goes." She groaned, turning to face her Watcher and ignoring the comment she'd heard. Then, looking back over her shoulder, she remarked with an evil smirk, "But, if you harm anyone, I'll relish being the one to personally dust you."

Spike's lip curled into a sneer. "You know what your problem is, **princess**? You're afraid of sullying your precious and pristine self with us lowly vamp-folk." He moved past her, heading towards the kitchen then pausing to add, "You can't keep us in the bowels of Hell, Slayer, without remaining there yourself."

She looked at Giles in confusion. "Huh?"

"Oh, for God's sake, girl, he was indicating, in a polite way of course, which is hard to imagine from the likes of Spike, but, he was saying that if you persist with a holier-than-thou attitude in regards to your duties, then you'll be quite humbled if you were to ever become a vampire. Or something worse," he tried to explain to, his eyes widening at what he'd just said. "Oh, dear Lord… tell me I didn't just exonerate most of the undead populous in the world?"

"In a nutshell, you've just belittled my calling to that of a vigilante," she seethed.

At that point, Spike reappeared, leaning against the archway between the two rooms, mug of blood in hand observing the Slayer and her Watcher. Who needed TV when he had his own little drama right here? Right now, it was a staring contest, a test of wills to see who was more stubborn or pissed-off. He didn't like the twitchy vibes he'd felt all day long and, if the two fighting before him was any indication, there was some serious mojo floating around. If the piece of hardware in his head was the only thing that stood between him and dustiness, he'd likely not last another day – and he didn't like it.

"I-I didn't mean, that is to say… I was just trying to explain Spike's thought process, what he was trying to convey since you didn't seem to understand his logic."

"His logic? Isn't Spike and logic in the same sentence like an ox-moron?" she asked, hands on hips.

"Oxymoron, and no, Spike is very intelligent… just not one for common sense," Giles clarified.

"Oi! Standin' right here!"

"Shut-up," Slayer and Watcher barked in unison.

Taking a sip of his blood, he muttered into the mug, "Gormless twits."

Ignoring him, Giles continued. "Until we understand what is happening to him, I think we should take a course of action that will allow for optimum retention of his knowledge while investigating the-the… what were they called, Spike?"

"Dunno, Army gits? Goons? G.I. Joe's? Commandos?"

"Yes, yes… Commandos."

"You've really got to work on your speech therapy there, Giles. I caught _investigate_ and _Commandos_."

"Seems she's a true blonde, Rupes… she's actin' like one," Spike offered, winking at her before he took another drink.

Buffy's eyes turned pointed before she pounced on Spike, flinging his cup against the wall where it shattered and left blood dripping down the white stucco. "I said, shut-up!"

Growling, he retaliated without thought, lunging at her and gripping her arms to the point of bruising. The chip fired mercilessly, leaving him slumped on the floor, his face smeared with blood from both nostrils.

Giles grabbed her arm and shoved her away from the incapacitated vampire. "Buffy! For God's sake, get a hold of yourself! We need him, and you beating the sense out of him will not help!" he yelled as he banished her to the other side of the room.

She flounced down on the sofa. "Don't know why."

Helping Spike to stand, Giles handed him a towel to clean up the blood. He shrugged off the Watcher's offer and instead, stormed towards Buffy.

"Why? You wanna know bwhy/b you need me? I'm the only one who knows what those sick bastards can do! You haven't seen the bleedin' destruction these humans are creating, the right mess they're making of the demon population. And you know why they're getting away with it? `Cause **you** don't care," he spat.

"Like I said upstairs, if you could pull your bleedin' stubborn head out of your arse you'd know that the world is not made up of only black and white. `S a whole fucking box of Crayola crayons, which contains crude oil… along with CD's and toothpaste," Spike ranted then walked back to the kitchen.

Tears gathered in her eyes and she them let slide silently down her flaming cheeks. "I hate him," she whispered.

Giles looked towards the kitchen and then back at Buffy. "No, I don't think that's it, Buffy. You hated the Master, and you hated Drusilla. This thing between you and Spike? It's more antagonistic than hateful, goading each other into action, playing off of one another. The only real difference I see is, that Spike never permits his grievances to overshadow his opportunities," he offered. "You, on the other hand, seem to fall apart if something doesn't go your way. Not the earmark of a great leader."

"I'm not a leader, Giles."

"I know you never asked for it but by nature, your calling expects you to be a leader. And you **are **a leader, even if you refuse to acknowledge it. Your friends would blindly follow you into Hell and back if it meant keeping the world safe. But… I want you to keep something in mind. Most leaders spend their time trying to get others to think highly of them… when instead, they should be trying to get their followers to think more highly of themselves."

Buffy turned away from his intense gaze and stared out the window into the darkening skies. She nodded mutely, not looking at her Watcher, but accepting the wisdom of his words. "I'll take Spike with me," she quietly confirmed.

"Good, thank you. He may prove useful at some point."

He moved towards the kitchen and peered slowly around the corner to watch Spike, who seemed to be staring off into space. "Are you ready to leave?"

The vampire looked down at the red-soaked towel he'd been using to stop the profuse bleeding this last round with the chip had caused and threw it in the sink. Knowing how the night was progressing, he grabbed another towel and stuffed it in his duster pocket, hoping a dishcloth would be enough the next time the chip fired. If he wanted any relief with the splitting headaches that followed, though, he'd better make peace for the time being.

"Yeah, sure, Rupes."

Spike left the confines of the kitchen and found Buffy sitting on the sofa, her posture tense as she rose to go towards the door, not looking at him. _Best make peace with the chit_. Hesitantly, he reached out, and with gentle pressure on her arm, stopped her before she opened the door. She turned to see him looking at her like a scolded child, remnants of blood still on his face.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, looking downcast.

Shocked to the core, she felt a brick in that wall around her heart come loose as he pleaded with his eyes for her to forgive him, looking so very lost and uncertain of himself. Trying to retreat from the emotions his gaze brought to the forefront, she reminded herself of Giles' statement about boosting the self-esteem of others instead of worrying about her own thoughts or feelings. Might as well start with the one person that seemed to bother her the most.

Reaching over the counter into the kitchen, she grabbed a clean towel and wet it, then wrung it out. Slowly, so she wouldn't startle him, she raised her hand and began wiping away the remaining blood on his face… reminding her that she was responsible for the vibrant bruise that graced his perfectly sculpted cheek.

Grimacing, she wiped the last of the blood off, knowing it had to hurt. "I'm sorry, too," she whispered guiltily. She didn't delve too much into what emotion was causing her to be nice to her mortal enemy.

He'd closed his eyes when she started washing his face with the wet rag and gave himself in to the sensations that fluttered through his undead heart. No one had ever cared to clean him up, except his mum, and he'd resisted it every time. But this… this he liked very much, opening his eyes in amazement at her words.

She started to withdraw her hand at the look in his eyes, full of questions and too full of emotions, but he captured her hand before she could, holding it against his cheek and nuzzling into her palm. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"Ahem."

Buffy stiffened as the moment disappeared with her Watcher's cough. She tossed the wet and bloody rag into the sink through the alcove and turned to head out the door, Spike following close behind her, glaring at her Watcher as the door slammed in their wake.

"God, give me strength," Giles muttered at the retreating pair, sure that things were about to get interesting.


	7. Chapter 7

Buffy and Spike headed towards UC Sunnydale campus in tense silence to pick up Willow at the girl's dorm room. Keeping her mind as blank as possible, she struggled to keep from 'accidentally' broadcasting anything that might run through her mind, peeking at her companion every once in a while. She had a sneaking suspicion that Spike was implementing the same behavior, as he hadn't said a word, a constant blank look on his face. That and the _I'm sorry_ really wigged her out.

_Why was Spike sorry? Sorry for being… well… Spike?_ she casually thought before she could catch herself.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes and harrumphed. "That'll be the day, Slayer. Not sorry for being what I am." He pulled out his smokes and lit one up, the nicotine soothing his frayed nerves. Afraid to say anything to offend the Slayer and end up with another bloody nose, he wisely avoided saying much else on why he'd apologized.

Groaning at her slipped thoughts once more, she kept her focus on the sidewalk as their paces ate up the distance to the dorm hall. The sooner she found out what was making her deepest thoughts spring forth like a trumpet to be heard by all, the sooner she could relax and things would get back to normal. Well, as normal as things would ever get in Sunnydale.

A thought occurred to her at that point, one that she closely guarded as it revealed a weakness. It seemed only Spike could hear her thoughts now and the headache was completely gone. She glanced at him once more, hoping he heard nothing of her musings, his features giving away nothing. If he did hear her, he wisely kept it to himself and for that, she was strangely thankful.

They approached the dorm and she fished out her keys, Spike moving to follow her inside. She held her hand up, causing him to back off a bit. "Uh, no offense, but this is one place you don't have an open invitation to." She stood blocking the door and he stepped back further.

"Bloody useless, Slayer. It's a public building… as in many people live here and temporarily I might add. Don't need an invite - could slip in, real quiet like, and roam the halls. Just need invited into a specific room is all," he corrected, smirking at her. "And that, would be as easy as pie." He waggled his eyebrows at her and she couldn't help but laugh a little, thinking of what happened when Riley tried such a maneuver. There really was no comparison. Spike won, hands down.

He cocked his head in curiosity, her laughter catching him off guard. She was trying not to grin, but he knew she would fail, so he graced her with a full-blown smile of his own. The look on his face caused her to let lose a throaty laugh and she shook her head.

"I'll be back, Spike. Just… just wait here, okay?" He nodded as he watched her enter the ground floor and ascend the steps to another level.

Turning, he pulled out another cigarette, taking in the location of the campus dorm and any trees that might enable him to make good on that little bit of threat he'd just given Buffy. He scanned the building and saw a light on the fourth floor come on as shadows moved across the room.

"Hello, gorgeous," he whispered, watching the shadow flit from one corner to the other.

Wait a tic. Since when did he think the Slayer was gorgeous? Of course she was a nimble little thing, all athletic with her bouncy golden hair and… oh, bollocks!

Feeling the strain of multiple shocks to the head, he rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. Right mess he was in. He heard her coming down the steps and moved to join her at the door, noticing that Willow was not with her.

"Red not coming?"

Buffy shrugged. "She's not up there. Bed's made, no note or anything… she knew we were going to the Bronze." She glanced at her watch. "It's kinda late, maybe she's already there…" she trailed off, watching as Spike moved towards the courtyard.

The blond vamp paced back and forth, touching the huge oak tree and walking measured steps towards the building, then whirling around to search the ground with hungry eyes.

"Hang… hang on, this - this is it! Wait… no… yes," he muttered to himself.

"What are you talking about?" She watched him as his agitation grew, his steps becoming more frantic with every movement.

Finally, he stopped and gestured to the ground that was grass covered. "The lab! The Commando lab! The door was right here where I escaped," he said with absolute certainty, pleading that she believe him.

Staring incredulously at the spot where he was pointing, she slowly shook her head. "I don't think so, Spike. It's just the lawn."

He became incensed as he fell to his hands and knees and started tearing at the ground, sending large divots of sod flying through the air.

"Open up! I'm gonna kill you!" he roared at the ground, clawing his way through dirt and gravel.

_Great. Now, I have an insane vamp on my hands. One too many knocks to the head and this is what you get._

Her thoughts earned her a harsh glare from the desperate blond, who flung a clump of sod at her and continued digging.

Swatting away the dirt easily, she approached closer and looked in the hole he was digging, see nothing to indicate a military installation. She figured the Commandos would at least have an operation on an army base or something like that, not underground. Way creepy.

"Spike, there's nothing there," she pointed out, trying not to antagonize him further,

Ignoring her, he stopped and yelled into the small hole he had dug. "Let me in!"

He stuck the upper half of his body in the opening and Buffy had this image of Alice about to fall through the tunnel of the White Rabbit. Shrugging it off, she moved to help extract the vamp when he surprised her, withdrawing on his own to sit back on his knees, huffing and close to tears, his mud-stained hands resting on this legs.

"Fix me," he whimpered dejectedly.

Another wave of sympathy coursed through her as she knelt down next to Spike and put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, let's get you up." She pulled at his arm but he pushed her away.

"Get off!" he snarled.

Stunned, she stepped back and lost whatever compassion his dilemma had garnered. "Okay, that's it! Enough of the martyred victim here - we need to get going. I still need to patrol." She grabbed his arm and hauled him up.

Running on pure instinct, he jerked his arm free of her grasp and swung around to punch her in the nose… screaming in pain as he clutched his head. He didn't see the oncoming punch she landed on his aquiline nose until he heard a sickening crunch and pain spread throughout his sinus cavity. He collapsed to the ground, curled into a ball of writhing pain and moaned.

"For fuck's sake, Slayer!"

"Don't come near me," she hissed, rubbing own her tender nose. "I might have to baby-sit your ass, but I'll turn a blind eye if you just happen to fall on… oh shall we say… a picket fence?" Glaring at him, she touched the bridge of her nose and determined it wasn't broken.

"I don't need a god-damned babysitter!" he ground out as he tried mopping up the blood with the dishtowel he'd pinched before leaving Giles' flat.

Fine. She'd let him fend for himself then. Turning on her heels, she walked away, leaving him knee-deep in mud. _Prick_, she thought angrily. _Last time I try to be all nice and sympathetic._

"Oi! I heard that!" he shouted after her retreating figure.

"Good! I wanted you to!" she yelled back, walking faster up the road.

Two could play this game. _Vicious bitch!_

He watched her pause for a moment, absorbing his words. Then she continued walking, hoping to hit him right where it hurt. _Formerly dangerous, currently annoying shell of a neutered loser._

Pursing his lips, he growled and got up to follow her, knowing the Watcher would stake his arse good if she came to any harm while she was with him. Didn't mean he couldn't hurt her just as much. _Slutty, the vampire layer._

Even though she was several paces ahead of him, Spike watched her come to a dead stop, slowly turning to see him halt in front of her with a smirk. Her lower lip wobbled a moment before she bit it to keep the tears at bay. "Thanks," she muttered.

"For?"

"Reminding me what you are," she laughed in a hollow manner. "For a brief nano-second there, I thought you'd changed."

Shame and anger warred within him. Anger at the whole fucked up situation and shame for causing the tears she was trying desperately not to shed. He knew that last insult would wound her deeply and he'd flung it carelessly, wishing he could just throttle her and stop this feeling that had awakened within him.

"Sorry."

Such a simple word. But it rocked her coming from him, because he'd been saying it a lot lately. She watched him become flustered and his eyes shift away from hers. Not completely ready to forgive him, she nodded and turned to continue on their journey, not willing to linger on why she even contemplated giving him her forgiveness in the first place.

He ran to catch up with her when he realized she was no longer standing before him, the two making quite a pair walking towards the Bronze. One a bruised, dirty, bloody mess, the other a study in pensive thought, her features extremely pinched.

Carefully guarding her thoughts, she kept trying to go over the whys of Spike's behavior, coming to no acceptable conclusion as they neared the main part of town. Grousing with herself, she became disgruntled and started chewing on her fingernail as they waited to cross an intersection.

"According to many psychologists, fingernail biting is a sign of stubbornness," Spike mumbled as he tried to clean off the remaining blood from his face with the towel that he'd stuffed in his duster.

Slowly turning her head, she stared at him, aghast. "I am _not_ stubborn!" she practically spat.

He just looked at her, lips thinned. "Yeah, not gonna touch that one."

"One more word and I'll knock you past Jupiter," she warned, pointing her nail-bitten finger at him.

"After the Sun, the Moon, and Venus, Jupiter is the brightest object in our sky," he offered, looking up at the night sky, trying to distract her from being so bloody bitchy.

It worked.

"What? Where?" She followed his gaze, completely forgetting that she was angry with him.

He grinned lopsidedly. Who knew the Slayer had a curious streak a mile wide? It was like distracting a magpie with shiny objects, guaranteed to work. He'd have to remember that.

She was scanning the dark night sky in frustration, huffing with irritation. "I… I can't find it." She felt him move behind her and lightly grasp her chin and pointed her towards the eastern horizon.

Leaning down he whispered in her ear. "There, pet." His body was aligned with hers and she felt him reach down with his right hand and grasp her hand, bringing it up to point at the stars. He leaned his head against her temple and started explaining softly.

"Jupiter always appears nearly full `cause the orbit is outside the Earth's. It never exceeds eleven point five degrees, and is almost always close to zero." He felt her relax and lean into him as he nuzzled into her hair, breathing deeply of her lavender and honey shampoo. _God, she smells heavenly._

His nearness shouldn't be having an effect on her, but when she felt his lips near her ear all she wanted to do was melt against him. She was so languid she barely heard his thought, turning in his arms and bringing her face to face with him… close. "What did you say?"

Looking into her luminous green eyes, he reached out to brush a stray hair away from her cheek, his gaze asking for something neither could voice. He moved closer to her lips, feeling her breathy pants on his face, her brow wrinkling in confusion. Seeing this, he abruptly let her go, taking a step back to diffuse an uncertain situation.

"Ahem," he coughed.

_He sounds like Giles._ she thought wistfully, quirking a smile.

"Not like that tweed-wearing, bloody ponce!" he growled, stepping further away from her.

"Damn it! I really need to censure my brain waves," she groaned, disgusted with herself once again for not blocking her train-wreck of a mind. Sighing, she motioned Spike to continue on to the Bronze.

They crossed several streets before he felt he needed to point out something she might not have considered. "Some serious mojo stirring up trouble, Slayer."

"How do you know?"

Gently tapping the side of his swollen nose, he smiled wanly. "Can smell it."

Raising an eyebrow, she decided he couldn't possibly smell anything with his mangled proboscis. Plus, she didn't want conversation wandering into uncomfortable territory, so she settled on making small talk.

"Is that the only thing you know about stars?" she asked hesitantly.

"Planets, Slayer… the Sun is a star… the rest, planets," he corrected.

"Whatever," she said offhandedly.

He rolled his eyes at her apparent lack of respect for knowledge. "Let's see… since Neptune was discovered in eighteen forty-six, it's made about three-quarters of one revolution around the Sun."

"Uh huh."

Another eye roll. "One solar day on Mercury lasts about six Earth months."

"Ouch," she said flippantly, crossing the street and into the alley near the Bronze.

Spike stood on the corner before entering the crowd milling around the entrance to the bar. "Do you even care what I'm sayin', Slayer?"

Looking back at him, she shrugged. "Well, I don't really get any of the stuff you said, so not really big on the uptake," she explained.

"Uneducated masses," he muttered. "How about… Pluto is red?"

That had her attention. "I thought Pluto was kinda tan with weird black ears?"

Shaking his head in disgust, he paused before the door. "The plan-et," he intoned sarcastically. "Not the bloody mutt from those Disney toons."

"Ohhh…"

"Let's just get this over with… my noggin's taken a hell of a beatin' tonight." He motioned her ahead of him and they disappeared into the crowded nightclub.

The Bronze was swinging, as usual. Buffy spotted Anya and Xander and filtered through the crowd to their table, Spike in tow. She heard Anya and Xander conversing in heated tones and dropped back a bit to let them finish.

"…If you don't know how I feel about," Xander was saying before Anya interrupted him.

"I don't! This isn't a relationship… you don't need me! All you care about is lots of orgasms," she complained.

At that moment, the blond pair sidled up to the table.

Xander became beet red. "Okay... remember how we talked about private conversations and how they're less private when they're in front of my friends?"

The vampire smirked. "Oh, I'm not your friend, Whelp. Do go on."

Buffy rolled her eyes in exasperation. "No, please don't." She gave a swift kick to Spike's shin.

Anya went on as if no one told her to stop, which, technically, they didn't. "This is important!"

"Ahn," Xander tried to sooth.

"What about us? Our romantic evening?" she pouted.

"Oh do tell," Spike leered and waggled his eyebrows, just to irritate the Whelp and the Slayer. He had to get his kicks in somewhere.

"Excuse me! Why is Mr. Peroxide Pain in my ass here, Buffy?" Xander had reached his frazzled limit.

Giving an apologetic look, Buffy shrugged and explained, "Giles wanted me to drag him along on patrol."

_Not like he can do anything._

"Oi! Again, heard that, Slayer!" Spike said as his voice rose.

Buffy did a very un-lady like thing and flipped him the bird, turning and ignoring his fuming stare. "Have you guys seen Willow? She was supposed to come with us," she asked Xander.

"Nah, we've been here awhile, but no Will," he explained.

"Did you hear what happened with Oz?" she said, leaning closer so he could hear her above the music.

Xander shook his head no and both he and Anya leaned in to hear the tale Buffy was telling. Spike sighed and pulled out a smoke and stuck it between his lips, a hand on his arm stopping him from lighting up. Anya shook her finger at him and pointed to the 'no smoking' sign that had been placed near the stairs. He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. It was going to be a long night.

After a few minutes of intense discussion, Xander reared his head back in surprise. "Geez, you mean Oz just sent for his stuff and didn't even call her? That's pretty harsh."

Anya agreed. "I only wish I had my powers back. I'd liquefy his entrails for her."

Xander looked askance at her. "That's sweet. God, poor Will. No wonder she's…" he trailed off having caught the unmistakable red bobbing head of Willow…on the dance floor. "…Having a wonderful time," he said with a frown.

"Wow. Way to rebound," Buffy said, eyebrows raised. She watched Willow dance up a storm with whomever she came in contact with.

"What? Are you people blind? She's hangin' on by a thread. Any ninny can see that," Spike scoffed, appalled at the lack of observation from Willow's so-called friends.

"As much as it pains me to say this, Spike is right. I do believe that's the dance of a brave little toaster," Xander confirmed.

"Since when did you have any insight to Willow, Spike?" Buffy glared at him as he fidgeted.

"Not hard to do, Slayer…you just-"

Spike was interrupted by Willow sloshing her Rum and Coke all over his duster, stumbling as she reached the table. A smile was plastered to her face.

"Oh sorry, Spike! My bad… `hic… it'll wash right off," she muffled into his leather covered arm. The group held their breath, waiting to see if the vamp would retaliate, knowing how much he loved his prized duster.

Instead, he shocked them.

Gently, he steered Willow to a chair and plopped her down, taking the drink out of her hand. "Sit down, luv." He took her hands in his and looked at her bleary-eyed expression. He brushed her bangs off of her nose and smiled at her. "Bit pissed?"

"Pissed?" Willow frowned

"Drunk," Spike clarified.

Willow laughed. "Drunk… that's such a-a strong word. Kind of a harsh, guttural, Anglo-Saxon word - drunk," she giggled and reached for her drink.

"Ah, ah, ah," Spike chastised, moving the alcohol away from her grasping hands.

"But that's my Rum and Coke," she pouted.

"Rum's an alcohol distilled from molasses and sugarcane juice, both of which are by-products of the process used to turn sugarcane into refined sugar. And Coke? Well that shit'll rot your pretty little brain there, Red," he admonished as he tapped her forehead.

Even in her drunken state, Willow was taken by surprise. "Woah, that's a neat trick…`hic… you got there, Spike. Go on, do another drink!" She bounced up and down clapping her hands.

The blond vampire stunned the others at the table. Willow was hanging on his arm, laughing loudly, and he accepted her irritating behavior as if he'd known her forever. Anya watched him with a renewed interest as Xander gazed at his sad, desperate best friend and cringed, wondering how Spike was able to reach her in a way he could not. He'd have to explore why he wasn't feeling more animosity towards the bleached pest, instead thinking he'd make a great pool partner. And Buffy. Well she felt a little of that green monster rear its head and she grimaced. Its only because Willow was so trashed she reasoned with herself, knowing she wasn't going to buy that one any time soon.

"Tell us about Gin," Anya piped up. She loved Gin and tonics.

"Ahn!" Xander scolded, darting his eyes to Spike.

He returned Xander's stare evenly as he answered his girlfriend. "Gin's a distilled grain alcohol flavored with juniper berries. Sloe gin is gin flavored with sloe berries from the blackthorn bush instead of juniper."

Xander gaped at the vampire, who now had a snoozing and drooling Willow lying against his shoulder. "Whiskey," he prompted.

Spike grinned and nodded at Xander in approval. "Now that's what I'm on about, mate!" He drained Willow's abandoned drink, seeing as she wasn't going to need it anymore.

"There are three different kinds, yeah? The word itself comes from the Gaelic 'usquebaugh,' meaning 'water of life'. It's distilled from fermented grains such as barley, rye, corn, wheat, or a combination. In old Eire and the US, whiskey is spelled with an 'e.' In Scotland, Canada, and Japan, it's spelled 'whisky.'"

Xander and Anya were totally spellbound, hanging on every word Spike uttered. Buffy just scoffed. She'd seen him do stuff like this all night.

"Now Scotch is whiskey made in Scotland. And, according to international law, only whiskey made in Scotland can be called Scotch," Spike continued as he ordered himself a bottle of the aforementioned topic.

"And Bourbon… that's American whiskey of the type originally made in Bourbon County, Kentucky. It's made from seventy percent corn and thirty percent wheat, rye, or other grains. Tennessee whiskey is similar to bourbon, `cept it's made in, well… Tennessee. Its filtered through a ten-foot layer of maple charcoal which gives it a milder, distinctive flavor," he finished with a posh flair.

Xander and Anya clapped their hands and asked for more. Buffy just leaned her chin on her palm and watched them all interact, finding a strange, comfortable peace wash over her. She glanced at Willow, who was contentedly dozing on Spike's right shoulder, and smiled to herself.

_Maybe he has changed_, she mused, knowing Spike would be the only one to hear her.

He did hear, but gave no indication to the others that he had, daring a glance in her direction. She gave him a hesitant smile as he continued on, his heart lighter with the small amount of trust she'd given him.


	8. Chapter 8

"May misfortune follow you the rest of your life… but never catch up!" Spike yelled as he raised his shot glass of whiskey.

"May you win a lottery and spend it… `hic… all on doctors!" Xander boomed, clinking his glass with Spike's.

Willow chimed in, "May the people who dance on your grave get cramps in their legs!" She giggled loudly, dribbling a little of the liquor down her chin.

Anya cleared her throat and yelled, "May you back into a pitchfork and grab a hot stove for support!" Everyone laughed uproariously.

Even with the deafening din of the music, Xander, Spike, Anya, and Willow could be heard shouting curses and toasts to one another or towards anyone in general. They had been doing this for the past hour, slowly but surely getting snockered in the process… especially since Spike was buying enough whiskey to fund the whole of Scotland.

Willow had woken up when Spike first raised his arm to a toast, looked for her drink that he'd downed earlier, and complained long enough that he started foisting shots on her. She gagged on the first few, but with her tongue blissfully numb, she tossed back the rest like a pro. Anya followed suit, gulping anything that was put in front of her.

Buffy was utterly baffled with the group.

She questioned Spike as to where he got the money for whiskey since he was always hitting up the Scoobies for cash to fund whatever habit he chose to indulge in at that moment. He just smirked at her, pushed up his pant leg and pulled out a large roll of bills from his boot and assured her, "Got me enough dosh, pet. And no, I didn't steal it!" He didn't elaborate any further, despite her skeptical expression, and turned back to drinking with the group.

The redheaded witch was too trashed to really comprehend why playing drinking games with a master vampire was so not of the good, even though said vamp was neutered. Buffy just kept a close eye on their actions making sure no funny business was going on. She didn't trust Spike, well… not that much… okay she trusted that he would get too messed up to actually cause any real harm if he tried to hurt someone. With that, she relaxed… a bit.

Xander was confusing as hell. All his grumbling and unaccounted bitterness about the vampire in their midst did not help explain why he was now treating Spike as if he was a long-lost drinking buddy. She thought Riley and Xander would get along great, if they actually ever met, but the more she thought on it, the deeper her frown became.

_Riley's a doofus_, she idly thought.

The blond vamp swiveled his head towards her with a frown. _Who's Riley?_

_You can hear me over this loud music?_ She stared at Spike skeptically. _And Riley is none of your business._

He shrugged and returned to his drink, watching the Scoobies interact over the rim of his glass. _Probably some enormous hall-monitor type wanting to keep you after school,_ he suggested, baiting her.

_He's got a big paddle, too._ She smirked at his fuming glare.

Leaning closer, Spike placed his right hand lightly on her knee and slowly slid his palm up her thigh. _Mine's bigger_.

"Oh, please," she groaned, rolling her eyes.

All eyes turned to her, the Scoobies unable to hear their internal dialogue.

"Ugh, I can't win… I just… can't… win." She bent forward and started banging her forehead on the edge of the table, mumbling about stupid thoughts running amuck and messing up her already crappy life even more.

Spike put his hand underneath the spot where Buffy's head hit the table and softened her next blow. "What you on about, Slayer?" he asked confused.

She blinked at the unexpected gesture and rubbed her sore forehead. "Nothing… it was nothing," she answered absentmindedly. He eyed her closely as she gave him a false smile, then slowly turned back to gulp another shot, glancing every now and then at her.

Pouring another, the pleasantly buzzed vamp asked the waiter for another glass. Once in hand, he filled it and pushed it towards the Slayer. "Drink up, it'll help," he slightly slurred.

She looked at it like it was the plague. "Um, no thank you," she said sweetly, shoving it back across the table to him.

"C'mon, it'll relax you." He pushed it back to her.

"I think everyone remembers when I had the fun beer-fest and went one million years B.C., right?" she asked the group, shoving the drink back to Spike once again.

"Sadly without the fuzzy bikini," Xander mused dreamily.

Anya pinched Xander's leg, hard. "Off topic, Xander."

"Right. Topic now," he quickly amended, rubbing his bruised thigh. "Probably not the best idea, giving the Buffster a drinky-poo." He laughed as he wiggled his fingers at her, totally sloshed.

Curling his tongue behind his teeth, Spike leered at her, eyebrow raised. "Think I'd like to meet Cave Buffy, sounds right primitive." He moved the drink back to her, keeping his hand on the glass to prevent her from pushing it back. _I'll make sure you get home safely, Slayer_, he added silently.

Her eyes widened at his words even though she fumed and glared. "Fine, but I'm not responsible for what happens when I can't remember my own name," she warned, giving in. Grabbing the shot, she lifted it to her nose and smelled it, grimacing. "How can you guys drink this stuff?"

"Ah, can't tastes anythingy," Willow giggled.

Buffy looked at the state her best friend was in tried not to laugh. The redhead was completely smashed and the others were soon headed that way. She didn't have to worry about driving since all of them lived within walking distance and it was a load off her mind.

Shrugging her shoulders and bracing herself, she raised her glass. "Here goes nothing." Knocking back the shot, she immediately gagged as it burned all the way down her throat to warm her stomach. "Bleahh! God that's horrible!"

"Just the first few, Slayer… here, drink another," Spike assured her and poured another round for everyone. "More toasts!" he yelled.

_More?_

_Lots more._

Pointing his drink to Anya, he suggested, "Demon girl starts this time."

The ex-demon lifted her eyes to the right to think of something. "Oh, I know!" She held out her shot glass to the others. "May your daughter's beauty be admired by everyone in the circus!" Resounding laughter ensued and they guzzled their drinks.

"My turn! My turn!" Xander bellowed. "For every wound, a balm. For every sorrow, a cheer. For every storm, a calm. For every thirst, a beer!" A mighty chorus of 'yeah' and 'here here' sounded from the table.

By this time, Buffy had three shots of whiskey and understood that numb feeling that Willow had described. Sniggering a little, she found she couldn't stop as she slapped the tabletop and fanned herself, laughing so hard she was turning red. Spike poured another round.

"Red?" the vamp prompted as he pointed the bottle towards Willow.

Bleary-eyed, she snickered and raised her glass. "May your nose hairs grow so long they strain your soup!" she laughed as she swallowed her shot. The group groaned with a few 'eww's' here and there.

"Hmm, let's see now," Spike said, concentrating. "Ah, champagne to our real friends, and real pain to our sham friends!" Everyone laughed as they turned to Buffy for her contribution.

Panicking because she couldn't really find anything witty to say, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind, jumbled and drunk as she was. "May I live long enough to dust you!"

A dead silence gripped the group as all eyes turned to Spike, his disappointment apparent to everyone at the table. Lowering his gaze, he knew the game was finished when the group slipped out of their chairs, wobbling as they tried in vain to stand still.

Buffy panicked and tried to back track, rather awkwardly. "I'm… I'm… sorry, I just don't know how to play the game!"

A few coughs, some cleared throats, and a few sideway glances told her that she had effectively broken the good mood that everyone had been partaking of, regardless if it was because of the vampire she had just toasted to being a future big bile of dust.

Willow frowned at Buffy then turned to Spike, grabbing his hands. "Hey, c'mon, this song is great!" She tugged him towards the dance floor as a particular heavy trance song started to play.

Xander and Anya were barely coordinated enough to follow them, leaving a distraught Slayer sitting alone at the table, watching _her_ friends leave with Spike.

"It's nice to see you brought your boogie shoes tonight, Will," Xander commented as he pulled Anya along.

"Yeah… I-I know I've been sort of a party-poop lately, so I said to myself… Self! It's time to shake and shimmy it off," she laughed, smiling at Spike as he reluctantly followed.

He didn't think this was such a good idea, everyone being drunk off their arses and all, as Xander could barely stand and Willow was hanging on his arm more than pulling or dragging him. He turned back to look at the Slayer and his heart tightened. She was pouring herself another drink, looking very small as she sat there and he could smell the tears misting her lashes even from this distance.

"Red, what about the Slayer?" the blond asked, halting her pulling movements.

She looked over at Buffy and grimaced, looking downcast. "It's me, isn't it?"

Puzzled, he looked between Willow and Buffy. "What're you on about?"

"Well, you came with Buffy but then things became awkward and you settled for me. I-I just happened to drag you out here to dance and I think you came with me because of some misguided sense of pity and I must not even be remotely attractive if I can't entice a guy of the undead variety-"

Spike place a firm finger over her flapping lips. Her nervous shuffle and deflating self-confidence spoke volumes. Right, then… time to cheer her up. "Piffle!" he said as he raised her chin so she could see his face.

She wrung her hands anxiously. "I mean, I know you can't bite anyone and I know I'm not the kind of girl vamps like to sink their teeth into. It's always like, oh, you're like a sister to me, or, oh, you're such a good friend," she intoned sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'd bite you in a heartbeat, if I didn't have this shit scrambling my brains every time I even thought about it."

Her eyebrows raised in shock. "Really?"

Spike shuffled his feet and mumbled, "Thought about it."

"When?" She'd never seen anything to indicate Spike might think of her as anything more than a Scooby-shaped pain-in-the-tuchis… and that was pushing it.

He waggled his eyebrows and somewhat leered at her. "Remember last year, you had on that... fuzzy pink number with the lilac underneath?"

"Seriously? I never would have guessed. You played the blood lust kinda cool," she said, doubting his words.

"Mmm, well I hate being obvious. All fang-y and grrr! Takes the mystery out, you know?" He demonstrated with clawed hands the way he would have reached for her throat, if not for a minor shock that stopped him short. He grimaced and shook his head, smiling slightly.

"If you could..." Willow said softly, noticing the pain that swept across his face.

"Yeah, Red, if I could." He nodded and then grinned fully.

She smiled shyly and tried to give him back a little of what he gave her… self-confidence. "You know, this doesn't make you any less terrifying."

He snorted in disbelief. "Don't patronize me."

Laughing, she pulled him further onto the dance floor where Xander and Anya were already working up a sweat. A niggling sensation started crawling up his spine as he and the witch stopped in the middle of the throng of people, turning once again to check on Buffy, his body rigid as he froze.

Three overly large jocks surrounded her and she was still tossing back shots like she was a pro. She was very animated in her conversations with the hulking mass of men, one of them even pointing to the almost empty bottle of whiskey and shaking his head.

"Tosser needs to mind his business," Spike muttered, hackles raised.

Wondering why her dance partner wasn't into the groove, Willow glanced past his shoulders to see what had captured his attention. "Oh, it's Riley!" she said loud enough to draw said man's notice and waved at him.

The moment Riley heard Willow's voice, he turned to seek out the redhead amongst the crowd. The chill that had slowly been creeping up Spike's spine finally settled in the base of his brain as he beheld the face of the boyish grunt, resounding alarm and need for survival prompting him to start backing up bit by bit into the shadows, tugging the witch along.

"C'mon Red, gotta dance, yeah?" There was a panicked tone to his voice and his grip on her hands was causing twinges to fire in his brain.

Willow furrowed her brow. "It's just Riley… he likes Buffy," she explained moving with him closer to the back of the club. Finally they reached the edge and started dancing, Spike pulling her close and whispering in her ear.

"That may be, but that's a bloody Commando she's got with her!"

Her eyes widened in dread as she looked back towards Buffy and noticed Riley heading their way. "Oh crap, oh mercy, Spike, he's coming!" She maneuvered the vamp and herself further into the crowd and near the back door. Once they were near enough, she shoved him towards the door and whispered loudly, "Get outta here… run!"

Spike looked at her for moment, not believing what she was doing for him. He grabbed her arms, pulled her to him, and planted a scorching kiss on her parted lips.

"Thanks, Red… I owe ya."

He didn't stay to see the profuse blush that crawled up Willow's neck and into her face as she watched him run out the door into the night, hoping he would find shelter. She stood there dazed and lightly touching her lips, reliving the awesomeness that was such a hot kiss. _Maybe he would… if he could_, she thought wistfully. A hand clamping down on her shoulder startled her out of her reverie.

"Hey, Willow, who you dancing with?" Riley looked around the crowd for the white head he was sure was with her before. Only one thing he knew had that shade of platinum on his head… Hostile Seventeen.

"Um, no one right now… wanna dance?" She was edgy and wanted to keep Riley from following Spike.

Deciding to play along because he could tell she was lying, he nodded and began moving, rather awkwardly, to the rhythm the music provided. Knowing he had more important matters to deal with, such as tracking the Sub T, he pushed his objective to the side to concentrate on ingratiating himself to Buffy's friends, hoping they would speak highly of him enough so he could ask her on a real date.

"So… does Buffy ever talk about me? Like, has she ever said-"

Willow cut him off quickly. "Nope, sorry."

Taken aback at her abrupt response, he faltered for a moment but composed himself. "Well… that's discouraging." Maybe this wouldn't be as easy as he first thought. _I just need to get her on my side is all_. "Still, I feel like I have a fighting chance with my new accomplice," he smirked and tried to waggle his eyebrows.

She wasn't falling for that scheme either, frowning and thinking he was having a seizure. "I'm not your accomplice," she said seriously.

_Either she's been burnt by love or she's naturally bitter_, he thought unkindly of the redhead as he was once again shot down. "Um, no, no. Of course not," he agreed hesitantly.

"I'm not," she reiterated, eyes narrowed. She knew what kind of game he was playing. And now, knowing he was part of the Commando group, well… there was _no _way she would help him gain Buffy's affections.

"You're not," he confirmed, nodding his head.

The music had wound down and they moved off the dance floor, both ill at ease with each other, heading towards the table where Buffy was sitting with Graham and Forrest. Willow noticed her friend was still drinking and her face was a mixture of confusion and irritation with the men surrounding her. She would have to tell Buffy about Riley and his lackeys, but they were still too drunk to really comprehend why it was important at this point. So, the witch kept her mouth shut until they were by themselves. But, she could still scare Riley into leaving Buffy alone… hopefully.

Before reaching the table, Willow pulled on his arm and he turned towards her. "We're clear, right?" she intoned in a low and deadly voice, eyes flashing red.

The large man had the grace not to wet himself. "We're clear," he whispered, watching her walk ahead to sit next to Buffy.

Just what the hell kind of friends did Buffy have, anyway?


	9. Chapter 9

Spike kept running as if his existence depended on it, and with regards to the solider boys, it did. The massive amount of alcohol in his system slowed him somewhat, but he trudged through the back alleys of Sunnydale to his cave, hoping the army troops hadn't found this little hidey-hole. If he were lucky, Harmony would be gone, having met the pointy end of a table-leg.

Creeping silently towards the opening of the cavern, he stretched his senses to see if she was about, frowning when he caught no scent at all. Peeking around the corner, he surveyed his cave to find it in disarray. All the unicorns and flying horses were gone, along with the hot pink clothes and fluffy pillows; the cave was entirely devoid of Harmony, her stuff and her scent.

Stepping into the chamber, he tried to remember the last time he'd seen her, the days all seeming to run together. Righting a candelabra and lighting a few of the remaining candles, he surveyed the rocky room, wondering when she'd left and who'd be dumb enough to shack up with her, not including himself, of course. He'd done so out of desperation, he recalled, begging her to get him some food because he couldn't feed himself.

Before that, it had just been sex – mediocre at best – but frequent, suspicious of the fact that he'd always pictured Buffy's face while fucking her. Now he had an inkling of why Dru had left him and he couldn't honestly blame her. It galled and excited him in turn, to want to feel your mortal enemy's touch against your skin while dying to rip it apart in the next breath. It was enough to drive a fellow batty.

Harmony's prattle never helped, especially when she batted her eyelashes and cooed about him being her _Blondie Bear_, which really was quite intolerable. It made him want to gag. The final straw was when she kept nattering on about how much he loved her before she left to get him a bite.

_I love Syphilis more than you._

In retrospect, it was the wrong thing to say, as she proceeded to bash him on the head and left him lying unconscious… in the middle of the forest. She'd dragged him there, probably in hopes he'd be vamp flambé, but the itch of coming dawn woke him before he became just that. How was he supposed to know she knew what Syphilis was? It was sheer luck that the Commandos hadn't happened upon him and he counted himself extremely fortunate. That had been weeks ago, starvation finally driving him to the Watcher's apartment in desperation.

Kicking at some debris in the corner, a burnt smell became overwhelming as he followed the scent over to a pile on the dirt floor barely resembling anything. He squat down and picked through the remains, anger growing the more he sifted.

"Fucking Hell! She burnt my Sex Pistols CD's!" he roared as he examined the melted plastic cover and tossed it to one side of the cave in irritation.

He also found his favorite red button up shirt melted onto an old LP of the Clash he had nicked back in the day. Great. The ditzy bitch even grabbed the good stuff. Was nothing sacred?

Sighing heavily, he looked around at the cave now decorated in Spartan style, and determined he'd better find a new place to stay. The Army goons would soon follow his tracks here and he felt too exposed. Unsure if he could return to the Watcher's flat, he decided to take the chance anyway.

Gathering what was left of his kit and tossing it into an old duffle bag, he grabbed as much of his memorabilia he could find, hoping the _really _good stuff hadn't become a victim of the _let's toast Spike's things because we can't toast his balls_ melted mass. Finding his Ramones, Iggy Pop, and Velvet Underground LP's stashed between the mattress and box springs of the rickety bed he stuffed them in the bag and headed out towards Giles' flat, hoping he could crash there until finding a place of his own. He'd consider it a bonus if he didn't have to deal too much with the Scoobies.

Slinking away as quietly and covertly as possible, he reflected on the past few days that had become his own living Hell, ducking a low hanging tree branch as he left the area. Willow's kindness had touched him deeply and he worried about her pervasive sadness.

"Red just needs some confidence is all. She's right special, that one. Can smell the magic all over her. Doesn't know how powerful she really is, I expect," he mumbled to himself, thinking that he secretly adored her in that lavender outfit from last year. It made her look like a naughty school girl that he could bend over his knee and… _okay, not going there, mate._

Shaking his head slightly, because it still twinged a bit every now and then, he slipped into the shadows that clung to the alley walls. Xander was another matter. "Whelp needs a man around, probably fed up with all the birds hanging about. Boy can hold his drink, that's for sure. Have to drag him over to Rack 'Ems and see if he's any good. Might be able to hustle a bit of dosh if he is," he explained to no one but the bum lying between some crates at the end of the alley.

"Rack 'em good!" the bum slurred and fell back into a drunken stupor.

Paying no attention to the inebriated man, Spike surveyed the street for Commandos and finding none, quickly crossed to the edge of the park that adjoined Giles' flat. "The Watcher… now there's a mystery," he huffed as he picked his way through the playground equipment. "He's either bleedin' insane or… well, he's bleedin' insane. Something's up the old git's sleeve, bashing me upside the head when he wants info he can get from any encyclopedia. Not like he keeps me around for the bloody conversation."

He finally made it to the Watcher's door and poised his fist to knock when the door swung open, light pouring out.

"Buffy?" he asked breathlessly, taking in the angelic vision, warm light surrounding her.

"Oh my God, Spike!" she cried and launched herself into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist.

Holding her body close, he looked at Rupert over her head in confusion at the gesture. Giles just shrugged and mouthed, _I'll tell you later_, shutting the door to give them a little privacy, though why he did gave him a little shudder.

"Spike! `Hic… I thought you were dustiness," she garbled against his leather duster.

Again with the confusion, but it tugged at his heartstrings. _Why would the Slayer care if you are dusty, old mate?_ Spike thought to himself.

"`Cause, you big idiot, you know where the solider guys are… and without you, can't find them," she mumbled in answer to his thought. "Plus, `hic, you said you'd make sure I got home safely. I waited… and waited, `hic, and I had to walk home with Wills."

She was still completely soused from drinking earlier, and he wondered how much more she'd had since his departure.

It was the only explanation he could come up with that would explain why the Slayer was this close to him, clinging to him as if he'd disappear if she let go. It might also explain the scent that suddenly assaulted his nose as she snuggled closer to him. Oh Jesus… cave-girl Buffy was indeed a sight to behold.

"I'm gonna let you down easy, pet, yeah?"

She tightened her grip on his coat and groaned. "No, you're so comfortable… and you smell… ewww… like," she sniffed his lapel and nuzzled into his hair, which drove him mad. "Like burnt clothes or plastic. How come?" she inquired, looking at him with dopey eyes.

Breathing heavily, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, as he returned her nuzzle, just under her ear. It wasn't fair, really, as he realized he needed to stop the Slayer before she made a spectacle of herself, clutching at his body the way she was. However, his body was clutching just as fiercely in return, and it took a will of iron to put things to a halt.

"Pet," he whispered, trembling with barely contained desire. "Need to put you down. I've not eaten and your blood smells mighty brilliant right now," he lied.

She pulled back to gaze at him, blinking slowly as she tried to comprehend what he was saying through a drunken haze. "Hungry?" she said thickly.

Snap! He zeroed in on her eyes as he picked up her double entendre and he flared his nostrils. "Very, very hungry, Buffy," he murmured, lowering his head, his mouth barely touching hers.

"So am I," she agreed and rose up to meet his lips as she wound her fingers through the curls at the base of his neck.

The kiss was all consuming and they quickly got lost in each other. Tightening her legs around his trim waist, she ground herself against his already hard cock and he moaned at the closeness of her heat.

_God, Buffy… you taste like sunshine_, he whimpered in her mind.

Lost in bliss, she arched her back as he began suckling on her neck. _What's happening to us? I can't breathe without you_.

_Don't know, but I can't let go._ Cupping her ass, he shoved her back, flush to the door, thrusting against her without thought to whose door he was banging her into.

Rupert suddenly opened the door, both Buffy and Spike falling to the floor of his apartment. They landed in a heap at his feet, never noticing the change in scenery, as Spike continued to kiss her roughened pouty lips, both grasping at each other fervently.

"Oh, pouty! Look at that lip… gonna get it… gonna get it," he murmured, nibbling the corner of her mouth, paying no heed to Giles staring at them in abject horror.

"Oh, stop," Buffy giggled and batted his chest playfully.

"Yes, please… stop. Both of you, or I'll go blind," Giles intoned harshly.

They froze, slowly turning their heads to glare at him. Knowing the moment was over, Buffy rolled out from under Spike to stand, pulling him up after her. "But he's such a good kisser… yummy, yummy!" she giggled at her Watcher, licking her lips.

He stared in shock at her behavior. "Do you realize what you're doing? This is nonsense, for God's sake! Something must be making you act this way. It's the only thing I can think of that would have you lip-locked with this undead creature you so recently despised."

Wanting to growl in outrage, Spike instead stepped away from the Slayer. "Watcher's got a point, luv," he regretfully agreed. His heart broke a little as he watched a blush creep its way across her face as she slowly backed away from him.

Shaking her foggy head in the negative, she regretted it immediately. "Oh God, I'm gonna be sick!" she yelled, running for the bathroom. Slamming the door, the men heard violent retching proceed soon after.

Turning back around, Giles pointed a finger at Spike, indicating a stern lecture was about to ensue but the vamp held his hand up. "Save it, Watcher. I know. She's a bit smashed is all," he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nothing happened." Shying away from his angry glower, he retreated to the foyer and grabbed his bag that was still outside the front door.

Standing in his way, Giles crossed his arms and scoffed. "If you think I'm going to let you stay here after what I just witnessed-"

"Saw the G.I. Joes at the Bronze," the vamp interrupted, dropping his belongings at the bottom of the stairs. "Might want to warn your Slayer about sleepin' with the enemy."

The normally patient Brit became irritated with this new information as he fell back onto the couch, exhausted from the day's events. "Did they see you?"

Sitting on the table across from him, Spike grimaced. "Think they caught a glimpse… would've been captured if Red hadn't shoved me out into the alley. As it happened, Buffy was cozying up to the head crew cut, like she knew him. My wager is he fancies her," he reported, trying to ignore the little ache that came with that statement. What she saw in the behemoth he'd never know. "Was giving her shit about drinking with her mates."

"The others were there, too? And they let you near the table?" Giles asked in astonishment as he sidetracked the idea of his Slayer's insensible drinking.

Spike snapped his fingers in front of the other man's face. "Hello? Anyone in there? I just said Buffy knew one of the Commandos!" he growled with frustration.

"No, I don't," she said as she emerged from the hallway. Apparently she was done tossing her cookies.

"Buffy, you might want to sit down," Giles said gently as he indicated the spot next to him on the couch.

Still woozy, she made her way over and plopped down, laying her head on her Watcher's shoulder to keep the room from spinning. It was hard seeing five Spikes' float in her field of vision, so she closed her eyes, trying not to fall asleep.

"Buffy, tell us what happened tonight," Giles prompted.

Replaying the evening in her fuzzy mind, she recalled all that Spike and she had done. "Went to the dorm to find Willow, but she was already gone. Then Spike went a bit crazy over the new turf they laid in the quad."

"Entrance to the bloody lab is down there, I know it, Watcher," he confirmed her story at Giles' confused look.

"His butt was so cute stuck up in the air like that!" she giggled, slapping her thigh.

Both men raised their eyebrows.

"Anyway-" she continued, "… we went to the Bronze and Xander and Anya were already there, talking about their love life… or lack there-of. Then we started chatting and next thing you know, Willow is dancing up to Spike and they all start drinking," she said drowsily, the alcohol in her system starting to have a sedative affect.

"So, you're telling me that the others willingly spent time in Spike's company, drinking with him, is that right?" Giles asked in amazement.

Spike looked affronted. "I'm not diseased, Rupes… and I know how to have fun."

"Anywho," she went on without taking a breath. "Willow pulls Spike out on the dance floor when Riley shows up with Forest and Graham. The next thing I know, Spike is gone and Riley is returning from the dance floor with a very pissed-off Willow."

"I'm sorry but I'm a bit lost… why is Willow upset?"

"Said she'd tell me later, but she left with Xander and Anya… I think they're gonna make sweet love tonight!" she giggled once more as her head lolled around on Giles' shoulder.

Impatient to know if he needed to leave town, Spike asked hesitantly, "Slayer… what happened with the college gits?"

"Riley asked if he should walk me home or something and I said, 'Hell no! I can take of myself, thank you very much!' He's so Teutonic," she muttered and promptly fell asleep, her head lying against the back of the couch.

"She doesn't know they're Army goons, Giles. Leave it that way," Spike said quietly, his look softening as he watched her breathe deep and peacefully.

The vamp must be deadly serious if he called him Giles. "She won't hear it from me."

"Thanks, mate."

"Well… um, well. Let's get her to bed then, shall we?" Giles suggested as he hoisted Buffy's arms up and Spike grabbed her legs. They trudged upstairs carrying the incapacitated Slayer and laid her out on Spike's bed.

"I'll kip downstairs, Rupes. She'll be right as rain in the morn," he assured the Watcher.

"Hmm."

~*~

The night progressed uneventfully until Spike heard Buffy stumbling around upstairs at three AM. He crept up the stairs and listened to her moan about a headache, snickering to himself as he leaned against the wall.

"Lousy son-of-a-bitch, I can hear you," she practically growled.

Stifling a chuckle, he slowly opened her door, losing his control and laughing out right. Her hair was a mess, her eyes red-rimmed, and she squinted against the hall light filtering in. She was not a pretty sight.

"Bit roughed up, Slayer?" he asked quietly. He knew what it was like to have a hang over, so he appreciated her foul mood.

"God, make the room stop spinning, please!" she whimpered.

Entering, he sat on the bed next to her, taking her hand in his. "Shhh, how about I just talk and hopefully it will take your mind off the pounding, yeah?"

She nodded slightly and curled her arms and head up in his lap. Taken aback by the gesture, he started talking about inane things that were flying around in his head, hoping she wouldn't mind if he stroked her hair.

"Some ancient Roman delicacies from around the year two-hundred A.D. were… parrot tongue, ostrich brains, thrush tongue, peacock comb, and nightingale tongue," he said, never thinking on the subject matter until he heard Buffy start to gag.

"Oh, stop! Please stop, I'm gonna hurl!" she moaned.

"Sorry, pet!" he genuinely apologized. "Let's try something else. I know! Every part of these plants is poisonous: Azalea, foxglove, nightshade, oleander, and rhododendron."

"Not helping!" she groaned as she reached for the spare trashcan next to the bed and stuck her head in, retching loudly.

"Bugger!"

"Don't you know anything cheerful?" Buffy complained as she laid her head back in his lap.

"Don't do cheerful, pet…do funny though, how about that?" he asked quietly.

"Fine," she muttered. "Just no… no jokes about graves, tongues, or blood."

"Sure thing, pet," he said with a smirk. "Ever see the film _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_?" he asked as he softly stroked her hair away from her face.

His hand was lulling her into a peaceful slumber and she nodded. "Watched it with my mom once."

"The woman who played Nurse Ratchett was Louise Fletcher and she won the Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her role in nineteen-seventy-five. In her speech, she thanked Jack Nicholson for 'making being in a mental institution just like being in a mental institution,'" he chuckled.

Snorting with laughter, she immediately regretted it. "Ugh, no laughing either… God, will this never end?"

"Get some fluids and food in you, luv, and you'll even out." He slipped from the side of the bed, kneeling down by her sweaty face, tucking a limp strand of hair behind her ear. "Anythin' else I can do for you?"

"Spike, are you good at government and history?" she asked offhandedly.

Curious to see where this was going, he answered, "Yeah, sure. Bloody lived long enough. Why?"

_Can you still read my thoughts?_

_Blimey, luv, what you have in mind then?_

"I need to give a presentation tomorrow in my government class and I didn't study, what with all that's going on. Could you come to campus with me and help?" she asked meekly.

Spike stared at her. "Hate to break it to you Slayer… but that big round ball of fire in the sky will be high and intolerable."

She scrunched up her face in a mischievous grin. "Got something to help with that. So will you come? I have to give a report on espionage and I haven't the faintest clue about anything. Pretty please?" she pouted.

His eyes became unfocused as he stared at her lips… her pouty, oh so kissable lips. Daring not to speak and ruin the moment, he held his breath and whispered in her mind. _Do you feel this, Buffy?_

Twining her fingers with his, she gripped them tightly as she started to drift off. _I feel warm… I feel lo…_

_Buffy?_

Her light snore both irritated and made him laugh at the same time. Kissing her forehead, he settled down next to her on the bed, never releasing her hand, anticipating an uncomfortable night.

"Spike?" she mumbled after a few moments of silence.

"Yeah, luv?"

There was a long pause, then, "Thanks."

"For what?" he asked softly.

"For not eating my friends while they were doing the funky chicken and boozing," she yawned.

Chuckling, he patted their joined hands with his free one. "As I see it, Slayer… every saint has a past and every sinner a future." Tightening his grip, he whispered, "Thanks for trustin' me."

Hearing her breathing even out, Spike realized she'd drifted off again into the nothingness of sleep, hoping she understood his gratitude. He never saw the slight smile playing upon her lips as he himself succumbed to the Sandman.

Yes, she understood.


	10. Chapter 10

Many, MANY thanks to DeanFTWinchester for catching onto something within this story and a serious flub of mine! YIKES! All facts that Spike spouts can be found in one of the numerous books of "Uncle John's Bathroom Reader". No, I don't sit in the bathroom and think this stuff up, though the shower provides a conduit for creativity. They're awesome books full of trival knowledge and are my crack. Yes, I think I'd sell my first-born to have them. Well, no... not my first born... maybe my second-born... when I have one. Thanks Dean!

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Buffy, I can make a glam-"

"Shhh."

"But-"

"Willow… please, my head. Not so loud," Buffy muttered from where she had her face buried in her arms as she slumped against Giles' little breakfast bar.

"I _was_ whispering, Miss Liquor is Quicker," Willow groused, picking at the breakfast plate, her eggs and toast growing cold.

"What I wanna know is," the petite blonde asked in a scratchy voice. "How come you don't have a hang-over?"

"Oh! Well, when I went home I ate some cereal, drank about a gallon of water and said a few words to clear my head. Poof! I'm all better!" she said cheerily - too cheerily.

"I hate you," she mumbled and took a sip of her now tepid coffee. She blanched at the taste and groaned in misery. "Can you make mine go away?"

Willow looked at her over the rim of her cup and grimaced. "I thought you didn't want me to use magic on you?"

"I'm in desperation here… I'd even let you turn me into a newt if it would make my head stop pounding and my stomach stop feeling like I'm on a Tilt-A-Whirl," she pleaded.

"Don't even think it, Red," Spike admonished as he slipped down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"I hate you, too," Buffy huffed as she buried her head deeper. "Just tell professor Turnipseed I can't make my presentation today, he'll have to understand. I just can't concentrate."

A snort of amusement escaped from Spike as he shoved a mug of blood into the microwave and waited for it to warm. "What kind of name is Turnipseed? Too bloody poncey if you ask me."

"He looks Swedish. Big, stocky, blondish-brown hair, big gap between his front teeth," Willow offered as she drank her tea.

"Yup, a ponce," Spike confirmed.

"And why are you so annoyingly cheerful this morning? You drank more than any of us!" she complained.

"Vampire constitution, luv. If you want, I can help you in that department… give you an edge in future drinking adventures," he said, waggling his eyebrows at the girls.

Willow giggled as Buffy rolled her eyes. "Hardly. Vampire kisses are of the big NO," she sneered.

Feeling a slight sting from her comment, Spike struck back, knowing that to keep her from living in denial irritated her like nothing else. _That's not what you were saying or doing last night, pet_, he directed his thought to the now blushing girl.

"That was a fluke! I was drunk!" she defended herself, her voice cracking.

"Am I missing something?" Willow asked, confused by the hidden banter.

_Didn't feel that way to me. You seemed right chuffed that I returned alive after I left the Bronze._ He didn't know who he was more upset with – her for refusing to acknowledge that something happened between them, or himself for trying to convince his heart that maybe he was worth something. Leaning against the kitchen archway, warm mug of blood in hand, he scowled at her.

"I loathe you," she hissed menacingly.

"Guys?" Willow interjected.

"`S okay, Red. Slayer's got her knickers in a bunch. She's in a right snit that we can read each other's thoughts." Willow frowned at his statement.

"No, what has me in a _snit_ is the fact I have to baby-sit a worthless vamp that has this amazing ability to screw up my life while barely lifting a sexy eyebrow," she huffed, and then groaned at her own words. "See? It's a conspiracy, I tell you! I can't even argue without some random feeling making itself known." Dumping her cold coffee in the sink she headed towards the door. "I need to go back to the dorm, get a shower and get my stuff ready." She turned a frosty glance towards Spike. "I'll meet you back here, okay?"

He smirked and started whistling a clearly Egyptian tune, watching her fume as she walked out, the door slamming in her wake.

Willow sighed. "Why do you do that to her? It only makes her angry with you."

"Yeah, well… she's not my cuppa either," he lied. Needing to keep busy so he wouldn't think about her, he picked up the breakfast plates and started to wash the dishes.

The redheaded witch looked askance at him, at the incongruency of Spike in Giles' kitchen, doing the dishes and having normal conversations. She sensed something was off about the normally exuberant vampire, other than being chipped, and if he and Buffy could read each other's thoughts then he must be on edge at the very least. And how in the world could that have happened? Watching him dip his hands in the soapy water, she noticed they trembled, whether from lack of blood or too many firings of the chip she had no clue, but it tugged at her heart.

"What's up?" she asked hesitantly

"The sky, Red… you should know that, being so bloody brilliant," he retorted with a strained smile.

She chuckled. "Cute, but you know what I mean. I heard Buffy talking, er, growling to Giles this morning before he left that he needed to ease up with the book-smackage," she admitted, her brow wrinkling in confusion. "What's going on, other than the chip going all wacky?

Spike weighed his options. If he let the Scoobies in on what was happening would they help him or exploit him, as he feared Giles was on the verge of doing? He looked into Willow's earnest eyes and decided he could at least trust her… a little.

"Took a few knocks up side the head just after I got this shockin' reminder of what it means to be on the receivin' end of a cattle prod. Blacked out for a few seconds and wake up spouting the whole of history like some damn Encyclopedia Britannica," he said, starting to dry the dishes he'd just washed.

The scientist in her revved into full gear. "Does it do that if you don't get hit in the head?"

"Get a twinge every now and then… but it takes a good crack against the noggin to jump-start it. Lasts about an hour or two… gets longer each time it happens," he answered quietly.

"And Giles? He knows this, right?"

"Yeah, bugger knows it," he snarled, gripping the plate he'd been drying so hard he heard it crack. "Fuck!" He flung the dish against the opposite wall and watched it smash into several pieces.

Silence hung in the air between the two, Spike panting heavily from anger and Willow watching the miserable vamp trying desperately to get a grip. He finally crossed his arms over his chest in a self-protective stance and glanced over at her. "In exchange for blood and shelter, I let him wack me a couple times with a book or some such and he gets his information," he admitted in a whisper.

Covering her mouth with her fingers, Willow's eyes teared up at his admission of Giles abusing the defenseless vampire. What could she say that would justify the librarian's treatment? Not much, if anything and she didn't think to question it, finally realizing that Spike never really lied. He only omitted facts, which yeah, in a way it was lying, but his heart was on his sleeve if anyone ever bothered to look. With Spike, there was no pretense as he was always blunt and to the point, hating to waste time with niceties.

Blowing out a heavy sigh, the blond vamp bent low to start picking up the shattered remains of the broken plate. He startled for a moment when the redhead squat down to help him.

"You look tired," she observed gravely.

Moving away from her, he shrugged off her concern. "Nothin' to be done, Red. Leave it be."

She couldn't argue with that. Spike wasn't staying with her and Buffy at the dorm, and she knew Xander was busy with Anya and wouldn't welcome a roommate that watched them do the horizontal tango all night long. He could find his own place, she supposed, but then the demon community might take advantage of a defenseless vamp and that would be the last they'd hear of him. No, Giles seemed to be the best option at this point, although she'd have to agree with Buffy that the book-smackage needed to stop.

As he threw the shards in the trash, she asked with caution, "Where is Giles by the way?"

"Said he was drivin' to L.A. to pick someone up at the airport, some bird he knows," he muttered, moving to sit on the couch with his mug of blood, a far-away look on his face.

The strain around his eyes was telling. A sudden idea popped into her head, and she wondered if it worked, would Giles would lay off the punching. "Can I try something, Spike?" she asked hesitantly.

"Not lettin' you rap me on the skull. Like you and all, but I'm bloody tired," he warned in a low voice.

"No! I won't do that, I promise," she quickly assured him. "I just want to see if it works without you getting slapped about."

He eyed her in a dubious manner. "How you plan on doin' that?"

"I could pick a subject and you answer questions about it," she proposed.

"Sure, Red, go ahead then."

"Let's try… world studies. What is the world's oldest city?"

"Byblos, Lebanon. It was founded around five thousand B.C. Tel Aviv, Israel, founded in nineteen-o-nine, is the world's youngest major city," he answered without batting an eyelash.

"Oh, this is so cool!" she stated in a giddy voice.

He smiled despite himself at her excitement. "Glad to oblige… least you're gentle about it."

Her giddiness immediately fled as she sobered. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

A feeling of empathy washed over him and he had to clear his throat. "Thanks, Red… means a lot. So continue."

"Umm, what city has the most bridges?"

"Hamburg, Germany. It has more than twenty-three hundred."

"Wow, that's a lot of bridges!"

"Haven't seen `em all, but dropped a couple bodies off a few… erm, yeah, that's another story," he ended with a feigned smile. It wouldn't do well to remind a Scooby why he was considered dangerous, no matter if he was neutered.

Ignoring his stumble, she began warming to her subject. "What major world city is the highest in elevation?"

"That would be the lovely Potosi, Bolivia at an elevation of thirteen-thousand feet. Dru and me got stuck there for a bit, the high altitude played havoc with human lungs but it didn't bother us none," he said with a chuckle, revealing a little of his life before to her.

"I can imagine," she said. "What's the most expensive country to live in?

"Japan."

"Wow! You're really good at this!" she beamed with a grin.

Nodding his head in thanks, he went on. "One percent of Greenland's entire population lives in a single flat building named Blok P."

"That's either a small population or a really big complex," she surmised with widened eyes.

"A bit of both, probably. More airline luggage is lost in Egypt than in any other country."

"Remind me never to go there."

"Better than China, luv… leading cause of death there is respiratory disease."

"Good thing I don't have asthma!"

"Well, you could visit the world's highest waterfall in beautiful Venezuela. Angel Falls is about three-thousand, two-hundred eighty-one feet from top to base."

"No high-diving there."

"You'd probably die before you hit the bottom, pet. Lots of jagged outcroppings along the way."

"I was never very good at swimming anyways," she said, blanching at the image he created.

"On the island of Cyprus, the archbishop is the only person allowed to write with purple ink," he continued, draining the last of his blood from his cup.

"Huh, I guess he must be someone important. Purple is usually reserved for royalty in most cultures."

"Can't say, Red. Andorra has the world's lowest unemployment rate – zero percent – and the highest life expectancy of about eighty-three point forty-eight years."

"I'm sold. I think we should all move there," she giggled. "So, anything else?"

"Sure. When a Sumo wrestler retires, his topknot, or his hair, is removed in a special ceremony," he reported, trying to think of things that he'd come across in his travels.

"Ewww, sweaty-fat-guys," she said, scrunching up her nose.

He smiled at her adorable face. She seemed to be taking the split with her beau a lot better than before and he hoped it continued because he liked talking with her. It came naturally with Willow as she appealed to the scholar deep inside William, so he didn't knock it. It wasn't like conversations with Buffy, where he was always on his guard, worrying if he'd push her to the point of another broken nose. He idly speculated what a chat with Xander would be like now, glancing at the clock and wondering where the Slayer was given that an hour or so had gone by since she'd left. Oh well, it was her project she'd be late for, not his.

On the verge of asking Willow if Xander and Anya had made it home all right last night, the question died on his lips as Buffy returned, slamming the door to announce her presence. As if he could forget. He watched her grimace at the sound, knowing she still had a bit of a headache from all the alcohol she'd imbibed, but her next words took them both completely by surprise.

"Sorry about earlier," she murmured, sitting next to Spike on the couch. She was clutching something in her hand so tightly that her knuckles were white.

Highly curious, but cautious, he quietly accepted her apology. "`S okay, Slayer. Hangovers do that to you."

Her best friend agreed. "Yeah, it's okay. No more mixing Buffy with the drinks. A world of no."

Buffy smiled hesitantly and then looked at Spike. "I know I never told you, being all Linda Blair with the puking last night, but thanks… thanks for taking care of me."

One could hear a pin drop she'd said it so simply, as if it were an everyday occurrence to thank the vamp. Feeling he must have heard wrong, he asked for clarification. "Exactly how did I take care of you, Slayer?"

Tightening her grip on whatever was in her hand, she puffed a breath to move her hair away from her eyes. "For not taking advantage of me in my, um, delicate condition. And for holding my head so I wouldn't miss the trashcan."

Truth be told, he _wanted_ to take advantage of her last night, just not in the way she was talking about. Instead, he nodded mutely and moved away from her to the kitchen, away from her tempting presence. He didn't see the crest-fallen look when he left, but Willow did, and a pervasive silence seemed to drape over the trio, tense and frustrating.

Needing to break the stillness, the redhead once again tried to offer her earlier suggestion. "Buffy, I could make a glamour for Spike… you know, like to keep him hidden from prying eyes." She hadn't told her friend about Riley yet; figuring now was not the best time to tell her the guy she'd been exchanging hot glances with was part of the unpopular Commandos.

"Makes sense… what do you think, Spike?" Buffy asked. "I mean, I have a hooded sweatshirt for you, but with that white hair of yours you'll still be noticeable. If these guys are still looking for you, they'll spot you for sure."

The vamp stared at her. She was asking him what he thought? Looking towards the ceiling, he waited for a piece of the sky to fall on him, but then frowned, wondering about a certain quirk in her plan. "Still tryin' to suss out how you're gonna accomplish gettin' me from here to your classroom for this little project."

Biting her lip near to the point of drawing blood, she indicated the coffee table in front of her, asking him to sit with which he complied. Sighing heavily, she reached for his hand, but he pulled away, unsure of her mood.

"Please?" she asked softly. "I won't hurt you."

Lips thinning, he reluctantly gave her his hand. Her temper went back and forth like a damn Viking boat and he didn't feel like having another migraine, so he remained passive until she laid her clenched fist into his open palm.

Wetting her lips, she spoke quietly but quickly, trepidation lacing her words. "Oz gave this back to me before he left. I-I was going to give it to Angel, but I guess Oz figured I'd need it at some point. He had a lot of foresight. I'm giving it back to you, but I want a promise that you'll only use it to help us. Otherwise, you'll wish I'd given it to Angel, `cause there won't be enough of you left to suck into a dust buster."

What the Hell did she have? And did she have to mention the Great Poof? He noticed Willow tense when Buffy mentioned Oz's name, seeing that while she tried to be optimistic about his departure, it still hurt the girl deeply. His fingers gently wrapped around her wrist, feeling her tremble with indecision. Then, she unclenched her fist and dropped the item into his palm, now warm from her nearness.

Spike looked down. Whatever snarky comment was on his lips died as he stared. Emotions overwhelmed him as he studied the object, arriving at the conclusion that yes, it was what he suspected it to be. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Willow nod silently in approval of her friend's decision. He in turn looked at the blonde girl sitting in front of him, trusting him to do the right thing.

Smiling hesitantly, she shrugged her shoulders. "It's not like he's here trying to save me from failing Government," she half kidded.

In his palm lay the Gem of Amara.


	11. Chapter 11

Spike continued to stare at the ring in the palm of his hand.

Buffy grew more nervous when he didn't saying anything, wringing her fingers as a myriad of emotions played across his face. She watched as his hand closed around the jewel, his eyes closing in what could only be called rapture.

_Oh God! Stupid Buffy! You know he'll only use it to pick up right where he left off, terrorizing Sunnydale and poking fun at my idiotic decision about Parker. What the hell was I thinking?_

He raised his head sharply and frowned at her. "No," he said quietly, intense emotion behind the word.

"No, what?" Willow asked, confused.

"No, I won't take it," he said simply and gave it back to the blonde, whose jaw hung wide open.

"Won't take it?" she scoffed. Her eyes narrowed on his pensive face. "Is this some kind of macho-pride thing with you? You can't help me unless we get there in one piece, and that includes you staying unnaturally pale in sunny California. Hence the ring," she reasoned, trying to hand the ring back.

Stepping back slightly, his eyes grew icy cold. With a frosty glare he clipped, "I heard what you were thinking, Slayer."

_Damn it!_ Huffing out a breath, she turned to her best friend and glared. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Willow's brows drew together, wondering at her friend's ire. "What do you mean?"

"Did you do something you shouldn't have?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Like what?"

"You haven't wriggled your little nose lately to say… oh, I don't know, maybe make the pain go Ipoof/I?"

The redhead looked affronted. "I haven't done any spells lately! Giles thought it would be a bad idea since I'm so emotional right now, so I didn't do anything… except maybe, I remember…" she faded out as she remembered the tiny spell she uttered before leaving the dorm a few days ago. "Oh, goddess," she breathed.

"What?" both blonds asked in unison.

"Umm, well… you see, I kinda did a itsy-bitsy, teenie-weenie-"

"Better be a yellow polka-dot bikini, Red," Spike growled.

"Spill, Wil," Buffy said, ignoring Spike.

The witch fidgeted on her stool. "It was a simple little thing, really… three words shouldn't make that much difference, right?" she cringed. She'd never tried that spell before and didn't know the far-reaching magnitude of it.

"What did you do, Willow?" Buffy grew irritated.

"Tempus vernum veritas," she answered quietly.

"And that does what, exactly?" the Slayer asked when she wasn't forthcoming with the details.

"I'm not sure," she murmured very quietly.

"Didn't catch that," Buffy groused. "What does it mean?"

Flustered, Willow closed her eyes and sighed heavily. "Means only time will tell the truth. It's a kinda truth spell and it's different for each person it affects."

"Truth spell? You put a 'truth' spell on us? For Pete's sake, why?"

She flung her hands in the air. "It was a spur-of-the-moment kinda thing, honestly! I'd been looking at some simple spells in a book I got at the Magic Shop, but I didn't read the whole text. Like I said, I don't know what it does other than your true self will be revealed in time. I guess for you guys that means you hear each other's thoughts," she added hesitantly. "But I don't know how that will reveal your true self."

Spike pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out the breath he was holding. "And how long does this tiny, bitty spell last, Red? Don't know if I can keep shieldin' my thoughts from the Slayer."

Buffy suddenly glanced at him with a hurt expression. "You shield your thoughts from me?" The bigger question was why did she care that he did.

"Buffy," he said softly. "If you knew half of the stuff runnin' rampant in my head you 'd be scared witless, shitless, and probably shirtless." He didn't expound on why he wanted Buffy shirtless, he'd had enough of constantly fixing a broken nose.

"Why can he do that and I can't?" she whined to Willow. "I mean, at first, everyone could hear what I was thinking, including Riley. But now, it's only me and Spike… when he chooses to let himself be audible," she said with a glare in the vamp's direction.

"I imagine he can do that because he's been around a lot longer than you have, Buffy. I'm guessing it has to do with the vagueness of the spell when I cast it."

"Woah, wait a tic," Spike growled. "Vague is not a word I want to hear you associate with a spell, Red."

Willow held up her hands in apology. "I'm sorry! I was flustered and irritated when I cast it. All I could think about was the Scooby group and Spike, and how it would've been better if everyone were their true selves instead of being all 'I'm concerned about you, but I don't want to concern myself with you' constantly. Plus, there was that truth spell that Giles wanted to do, but he backed out at the last minute, and maybe that's why I was thinking 'why doesn't everyone just reveal the truth? It'd be so much easier.'"

Both blonds stared at her.

"What? Giles was seriously condemning me about magic, saying I was too 'unfocused' and I just wanted to prove him wrong."

Buffy snorted. "Yeah, you really achieved _that _goal."

"Actually, I did," Willow gloated. "I cast the spell and it worked… somewhat."

"Except that now, Buffy and I might as well have amplifiers plugged into our brains. Yeah, Red… not the brightest of ideas there."

"Hey!"

"Look on the bright side," Buffy started to explain. "At least we're only hearing each other now. Before…" She shuddered and closed her eyes.

"Is that so?" he teased. "Do tell."

"It started with Riley and then Giles. In my head, I compared Giles to Gollum and I basically thought that Riley couldn't pull off a sexy eyebrow waggle like Spike does to save his life," she recounted and then blushed profusely at what she'd revealed.

"You think I have a sexy brow waggle, Slayer?" he asked with mirth. He couldn't let that one pass, her blush making his heart lurch in his chest.

Buffy held up her index finger. "Not a word to another soul, understand?"

"Fine by me, Slayer."

"So who else is affected by this spell, Wil? We didn't hear anyone else's thoughts."

Willow bit her lip. "Well, like I said… I was thinking about the Scoobies and Spike at the time, so I think it will only affect them."

"Yeah, curious about that one. Why me?" he asked cocking his head.

"Oh! `Cause Buffy was talking about you that morning," she replied with a smile.

Buffy groaned loudly and buried her burning face in her hands.

"Did she now?" he mused with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And just what were you sayin', pet?"

_That I was worried about you _came the forbidden thought, straight from Buffy's mind.

He sobered immediately and took pity on the embarrassed girl. "Ahem, so, Red… what do you think it's done to you then?" he inquired, changing the topic so Buffy wouldn't have to answer his question.

She glanced up at him and sighed in relief. _Thanks._

_Welcome, luv_, he thought with a nod and smiled shyly.

Willow watched the interaction between the two and grinned. "Well, umm, let me think. Not sure how its affected me, or if it even has. But I think I know how it's affecting Xander."

"Oh, please do tell about the Whelp," he encouraged with a grin.

"Well, he's always been kinda left out, even among us Scoobies. I think he thinks of himself as just an ordinary kind a guy… you know, the only non-magical, non-super human, non-vampire, non-Sir John Gielgud librarian type person amongst us," the witch explained in one breath.

"And?" Buffy said, hoping her friend would get to the point.

"Well, he kinda feels left out. I mean, he's been my best friend for like… forever, and he's your close friend, too," she explained, pointing to the blonde. "But there really aren't any other 'guy' friends around our group. Mostly because they keep getting eaten or try to sacrifice us to serpent demons. But with Spike, Xander has… well, for now, someone he can kinda get to know and maybe you two could do the male bonding thing and shoot pool, hustle frat guys, go on all night binges… oh wait, that wouldn't be good," she mused aloud as an afterthought.

"Male bondin' thing?" Spike asked with a moue of disgust.

"Tell me you didn't have fun last night?" Willow challenged him. "The honest, hard truth for Xander is he needs a male friend that he can look up to. Someone that will make him try his hardest to be a better person. I think that's you, Spike."

"I think you're way off base there, Wils," Buffy laughed, but the vampire remained quiet.

"Just give it a shot," the redhead pleaded, silently eyeing Spike.

He pursed his lips. "I promise not to eat the scruffy Whelp… even when he clearly deserves it."

The witch snickered. "I give you an 'A' for effort."

"Crap!" Buffy shouted as she glanced down at her watch, her friend's comment reminding her that she had her own 'A' to achieve. "I'm late! Willow, quick… the glamour!" She grabbed her backpack and pulled out a black hoodie and handed it to Spike.

Willow reached over and ran her hands through Spike's hair and chanted before he could move. "Tergum ut vestri northmanni vultus."

Immediately his hair became longer and shaggy, turning a honey brown with curls galore. His face filled out a little more and the scare above his eyebrow disappeared. His normally bright blue eyes softened to a deep iris blue. Without knowing it, Willow had transformed his looks to that of Spike's human self, William.

"Oh my god," Buffy breathed, staring at the completely different-looking vampire.

Spike was stunned, as he touched his face. What the hell had the witch done? He felt off, somehow… not uncomfortable, but not relaxed, either. Gazing down at his hands, he noticed they were pink as human flesh. He gulped audibly as familiar emotions flooded his being… ones that greatly resembled his state of mind just after he'd been sired.

"Can I see my reflection in a mirror?" he whispered hesitantly.

The redhead nodded and asked Buffy for her compact. She fished it out and handed it to her friend, her eyes never leaving Spike's face.

Willow slowly opened the compact and murmured, "Vos animadverto vestri animus," allowing him to see his reflection.

For the first time in over a hundred years, Spike looked upon his reflection.

He turned his head this way and that, tilting his chin up and down. He gazed into his deep blue eyes and grimaced at what he saw behind them. Years of Angelus' abuse and Dru's faithlessness had made him weak in his mind and the truth shone out for all to see… if they only bothered to look.

"Poncey bugger," he muttered and shut the compact quickly.

"Sorry, it was all I could think of on short notice," Willow apologized.

"No, no, Red. `S okay, really. Just a bit of a shock, that's all," he assured her. She still looked fretful, so he pulled her in for a big hug and kissed her forehead. "Truly, `s okay. Better get goin' though."

Shucking his beloved duster over the end of the couch, he pulled the hoodie over his head, tugging it down so that he looked somewhat presentable. Reaching behind his head, he grabbed the fabric and pulled the hood over his head to complete the disguise.

Before he put the hood up, Buffy believed he'd beat the pants off any model for the cover of Esquire or GQ. His honey brown curls laying lightly against his face made for a softer Spike, and all Buffy could do was appreciate the view.

"Drool much?" Willow whispered in her ear. It earned her an elbow to her sternum.

"Best leave now, Slayer," he suggested as he approached the door, waiting for her.

Shaking off her daze, she grabbed her backpack and headed towards the door, stopping before him. Gently, so as not to startle him, she took his hand and slid the ring onto his left ring finger. The significance was not lost on Spike.

"I trust you to do the right thing," she admitted quietly, her cheeks tinged red.

Spike once again stared at the gem and squeezed his fist. "Why?" he pleaded, fixing his eyes on hers. He needed to know why she trusted him… why he felt different lately… why it mattered, to him and to her.

Standing on tiptoe, she softly kissed his cheek. "Because I believe in you."

Moaning softly, he nuzzled her cheek, pressing his cool lips at the pulse point just under her ear. "Let's go ace that final then, shall we, m'lady?" he asked, smiling against her skin.

She giggled softly and took his hand in hers, pulling him out into the sunshine of a bright new day.


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry, this is kind of a short chapter - but it was needed. The test will be the next chapter. You know the drill, Joss owns everything, but I borrow Spike and Buffy to play Ken and Barbie. :D *All facts come from the wonderful trivia books, Uncle John's Bathroom Reader.* Pick one up! ***song in chapter is 'Savin' Me' by Nickleback. I believe there is actually a Spuffy version on YouTube.**

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Even though he trusted Buffy to a certain extent, Spike hesitated once they were outside of the apartment. Pulling the hood further over his head, he inched his hand into a beam of sunlight, feeling the warmth as it tingled his flesh. Seeing no flames erupt, he stepped fully into the sun and joined her as she stood off to the side with a lop-sided grin on her face.

"Thought I was bluffing, didn't you?" she accused gently.

"Bit out of my element, pet, can't blame a bloke for bein' suspicious," he responded as they began walking towards campus.

Giving him a small smile with a nod, she quietly said, "I suppose I deserve that, after everything that we've been through."

Fidgeting because he was uncomfortably warm in the hoodie, he glanced sideways at her pensive expression. "I'm just lucky you or your Scoobies didn't hand me over to the demon brigade when the chance presented itself."

"We didn't?"

"Shall I recount last night, when Red was starin' down with Captain America, how she saved my arse by shovin' me out the back door, even pissed as she was?"

Her eyes widened. "Willow did that?"

"Prevented the git from comin' after me, too."

"Huh, who'da thunk?"

"My point exactly."

Cringing a bit, she peeked at him, hoping he'd tell her she hadn't been a complete bitch to him. "And… uhm, what did I do?"

Patting his pockets for a cigarette, he found one and lit up, inhaling the soothing nicotine. "Got shit-faced and probably…" He stopped before his foot could be inserted any further into his mouth.

Of course she wouldn't let it drop. "Probably what?"

Rounding a corner, he kept his mouth tightly shut and his mind blessedly blank, hoping the awkward feeling rising within him would dissipate. He'd been about to say that she probably snogged the entire team, but thought that unlikely, even drunk as she became. And, she didn't remember much from last night, so who was he to remind her of their own intimate snogging session?

They were silent for a few blocks, but eventually Buffy's curiosity got the better of her. "What was it like… being in the Army lab?"

His face immediately shut down as he flicked the extinguished butt on the ground. "You should know, Slayer, you're shaggin' one of `em," he commented bitterly.

"What? I'm not shagging anyone! The last shag I had was that day you painfully reminded me what an idiot I was in the love department!" she yelled and stomped ahead of him. _Apparently I'm not worth even the one shag_, she thought as tears misted her eyes.

_Poncey bugger, look what you did_, he admonished himself. Both of them had stopped in front of the Espresso Pump, hearing what the other was thinking.

"Sorry," he mumbled, refusing to look her in the eyes.

Saying nothing, she went inside the café and stood at the counter, ready to order.

Growling to himself, he seemed like he was forever saying he was sorry for one thing or another, and it was getting tiresome. Heartily sick of being at the whims of fate, he closed his eyes and just breathed deeply, toying with an idea that'd presented itself. It was daylight and he had the Gem, what more could he ask for? Would the hardware in his head fire if he wore the ring?

To test his theory, he scanned the crowd while the lovely Happy Meals went along their merry way, begging to be eaten. One particularly plump morsel strode by and winked at him, making him turn his head and start to follow. A severe blow to his skull stopped his predatory urges.

"Spike! What are you doing?" Buffy shouted in astonishment.

"Gah!" he screamed as he grabbed his head in his hands, slumping to the ground in an epileptic fit.

He went limp after five seconds of convulsions, blood trickling from his nose. Afraid she'd gone too far, she bent down and grabbed him under his arms, dragging him into the alley behind the café. Propping him up, she noticed the blood making its way down his neck, cringing in fear at the extent of the damage. Concern warred with caution as she pulled back the hood to find the source of the blood, tracing it all the way to his ear.

"Oh God," she whispered. "What have they done to you?"

"`S matter Slayer? No, no no… not two, not two of yoush," he slurred as his head lolled to the side.

"C'mon, Spike, can you stand?" she pleaded as she tried to pull him to an upright position.

"J'know rainbows are doughnut-shape when viewed from above?" he offered, bracing himself against the brick wall, eyes still unfocused.

"Hmm, didn't know," she answered absentmindedly as she kept him in a vertical stance. As long as he was talking, it was a good sign.

"Snakes are immune to their own venom… ssssss," he hissed at her.

She watched him as he stood by himself now, one arm holding onto the dumpster, the other clutching her forearm in a white-knuckled grip.

"In her films, Shirley Temple always had fifty-six curls in her hair," he giggled somewhat manically, clutching at his bowed head, weaving back and forth slightly.

"Oh my God," she whispered in horror.

"Experts say if you go without sleep for ten days straight, you'll die!" he screamed at the sky. "I'm already fuckin' dead, you wankers, come and get me!"

He stumbled away from her and into the middle of the alley, muttering to himself like a deranged mental patient. "If there are ten books on a bookshelf, they can be arranged in three-million, six-hundred twenty-eight thousand, eight-hundred ways."

"I'm so sorry, Spike… so sorry," she whispered as she followed him at a small distance to keep him from harm, but not interfering.

"Blood… blood travels sixty-thousand miles a day as it circulates through the human body," he mumbled as he turned back towards her. He straightened somewhat and began creeping along the wall, as if to avoid the sun.

"All three of Christopher Columbus's ships were originally named for Barcelona prostitutes."

"Spike," she said with unease. "Let me help you."

"Napoleon's writing was so illegible that many of his letters were mistaken for battlefield maps," he garbled as he leapt from the shadows and into the sunlight near Buffy.

"Spike, please… trust me," she begged as she held out her hand to him.

"Here lies young Ezekiel Height, died from jumping Jim Smith's claim. Didn't happen at the mining site, the claim he jumped was Jim Smith's dame." He laughed as he twirled around Buffy.

Enough was enough. She grabbed him during one of his twirls and kept him still in front of her, holding his hands tightly, afraid he would wander off again. "Stay… with me, please?" she requested quietly, gazing hard into this eyes.

He returned the grip on her hands and bent down to whisper in her ear. "Four things that kill germs… bleach, alcohol, sunshine, and tears." He let go of one hand and tried to pull the ring off his left. "Kill me, Buffy, have mercy and kill me."

"NO!" she screamed, preventing him from removing the Gem. "Spike, come on, lets just go and sit down for a bit, okay?"

As if clouds were suddenly pierced with sunshine, Spike's eyes grew less foggy… less manic. "Buffy?" he groaned.

"Spike!" she said with relief. Without thinking, she grabbed him into a bone crushing bear hug, crying that she was sorry for hitting him on the head again.

He was shaking and unsteady so he clung to her like a life preserver. "What's happening to me?" he whimpered, tears clogging his throat.

"I don't know, but we'll get those bastards, I promise. We'll get them to fix you," she swore vehemently, stroking the hair on the back of his head in a soothing gesture.

"If they fix me, Slayer, you'll have to kill me," he reminded her.

She stopped stroking his head and leaned away from him. "Let's take it one day at a time, okay? We'll look at the options once we know what they are."

"Yeah, sure, Slayer," he agreed lightly. But he knew. In the end, he could only hope he was sane enough to be aware that the Slayer had vanquished him.

"How are you feeling? Do you want to go back to Giles'?" she asked as she took out a wet nap from her purse and began wiping away the now crusted blood from his face and ear.

Brushing off her ablutions like a child with his mother, he said, "No, I'm good. Give me a minute to get myself sorted and I'll be right as rain."

Cheeks tingeing crimson from embarrassment, she gave him a nod as she backed away and left him in the middle of the alley by himself. Walking around the corner, she sat at one of the little tables situated outside of the Pump and waited, guilt assaulting her conscience.

Spike watched her leave and sighed heavily. He shielded his thoughts as much as he could. _Got to hold it together, mate or you're gonna be looney tunes. Poor Dru. Know what she was on about now. Sorry, my wicked plum._

Bending low, he gazed into a puddle of water, casting no reflection. Feeling blood drip from his ear and make its way across his cheek, he dug around in his jeans pocket for a slip of fabric, dipping it into the hazy water and started cleaning his face. _Why is this happening to me? Why does she care about what happens to me? I'm so hungry, so tired, so alone_. He gazed at the alley wall, seeing nothing.

_Enough feelin' sorry for yourself mate, it'll get you nowhere but dead, well even more dead than you already are. Got a promise to keep to a lady. And no matter what you show the world, you are still that gentleman prat William._

Grimacing, he stood slowly, listening to the music as it started wafting from the radio station in the back part of the alley. It was faint but he could hear the words as they filtered through his mind.

_Show me what it's like  
To be the last one standing  
And teach me wrong from right  
And I'll show you what I can be  
Say it for me  
Say it to me  
And I'll leave this life behind me  
Say it if it's worth saving me._

Bitter tears filled his eyes as his head drooped, letting them fall freely for once. _Not worth savin'… not worth it to her_.

Around the corner, Buffy's tears silently fell as she listened to his agonized thoughts. Maybe it was stress or pressure, maybe it was one knock too many… but she realized something as she wiped her cheeks of the fresh tears that wouldn't stop. Spike's mental shield was gone.


	13. Chapter 13

All of the facts about Robert Hanssen are true (the movie Breach was based on his career as a spy - but not accurate). According to the International Spy Museum (in Washington DC) there are 4 reasons why people spy: Money or Power, Ego, and Loyalty. If you ever get a chance to go there, I highly recommend it! And they showcase Robert Hanssen's profile. Oh and Rhodes Hall is an actual Hall on the Ohio State University's campus. **Any and all facts come from the series "Uncle John's Bathroom Reader" which is full of trivial knowledge!**

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A podium with a mic was situated at the front of the stage for those giving their presentations – like the auditorium in Rhodes Hall didn't already echo like nobody's business. Buffy cringed as she got a sudden attack of nerves while watching students begin filing into their seats for History 101, her hands wringing as she paced in the back of the theater.

_Stupid Buffy, should have taken something easier… like macramé!_

Spike had remained quiet on the rest of the journey towards campus and was standing uneasily behind her, studying the crowd and possible escape routes should it become necessary. He'd said nothing about what happened in the alley and she didn't push him, feeling stress would just send him past a barrier that even he didn't want to cross.

"Best find a seat, pet," he whispered in her ear, pointing to a couple of chairs in the back of the auditorium that looked promising, in case he needed to make a quick get away.

She agreed, following him to the seats and sat down, keeping her hands together in her lap clamped tight to keep them from shaking. Give her a few vamps, a demon here or there… anything but this. Slayer strength, human fear… go figure.

Noticing her tremors, he lightly laid his fingers on her clenched fist. "`S okay, Slayer… just think of them in the nude. Most people do," he assured her.

"Ugh, mental image SO not what I need." She grimaced. "What if I flub up what you're telling me?" she asked, panicking because the professor was approaching the podium to begin the presentations.

Without thinking of the ramifications, he leaned over and softly kissed her on the cheek, whispering, "You'll do fine. I believe in you."

Buffy froze. Whether from the kiss, or her earlier affirmation echoed back to her, she didn't know. He believed in her! No one had ever said they believed in her, they just expected her to get the job done. Turning, she looked into his fathomless blue eyes and smiled.

"Thanks. I just hope I do your information justice," she replied softly and leaned her forehead gently against his, mindful of his pain.

He grinned and patted her hand. "No worries there."

"Since we usually start alphabetically by name for presentations, I'm going to pick at random this time to liven things up a bit," Professor Turnipseed announced to the groaning class.

"Let's see… Miss Buffy Summers, if you would come and make your presentation. You have twenty minutes," the professor said loudly to the audience, searching for his student.

"Here goes nothing," Buffy whispered as she rubbed her sweaty palms on the thighs of her jeans and moved towards the front.

Spike pulled his hood over his head and sunk low in the seat to avoid attention as he focused in on Buffy's mind. _She's got a delectable bum,_ he thought, watching her climb the steps.

Faltering for moment after hearing his thought, she shook it off, not wanting him to see that his merest contemplation was audible to her.

_Poor thing is deathly afraid, never seen a shade that white, except on Dru's arse_, he observed as he watched her grip the edges of the podium.

Her eyebrows rose as she coughed to cover up the fact that she had just been compared to Dru's ass. This was going to be a long presentation.

Per Spike's request, she'd written a little speech before she got into the nitty gritty of the subject, allowing for the vamp to gauge her speech pattern and flow to make it seem as if she were truly the one giving the presentation.

"Espionage. There are four reasons as to why people choose Espionage - loyalty, ego, money, or power. It could be for one reason, or all three. This is the story about a man who spied for ego, and he became the most damaging spy in the FBI's history and possibly, in the history of the United States."

_That's my girl_, he reassured her as she ducked her head and smiled.

_First off, the Mole_, he started and she began speaking every word verbatim that crossed her mind from his.

"In February nineteen ninety-four, FBI agents arrested a thirty-year veteran of the CIA named Aldrich Ames and charged him with spying for the Soviet Union. In the nine years that Ames was a spy, he exposed more than a hundred sensitive operations and revealed the name of every CIA intelligence source in the Soviet Union… the damn bugger. Oops! Sorry… ahem," she apologized to the class, coughing to hide her embarrassment at saying Spike's personal thoughts on the matter. She sent a glare in his direction.

When she heard nothing, she continued. "At least ten of them were executed while many others were sent to prison. Ames was paid more than two and half million for his efforts and was promised another one point nine million, making him the highest paid double agent in history, not to mention one of the most damaging."

"Fuckin' prick," Spike muttered. She arched an eyebrow, but didn't repeat his opinion.

"Yet," she began again. "As pleased as the FBI and CIA were to have caught Ames, disturbing signs soon began to emerge that there might be one, possibly even more moles hiding elsewhere in various US intelligence agencies. Some secrets known to have been compromised couldn't be traced back to Ames - he simply didn't know about them… yeah right," she finished on a gulp.

Gripping the podium, she tried to calm down. "Both the CIA and FBI set up new mole hunting teams and set to work looking for spies. It was code named Graysuit. Each time a new suspect was identified, they were given a code name with 'Gray' as the prefix. It dredged up some relatively minor spies but didn't answer the question of who was responsible for giving the two biggest intelligence secrets to the Russians… Commy bastards!"

"Miss Summers, I must ask that you refrain from inserting your personal opinions of the subject matter into the presentation," Professor Turnipseed told her at this latest outburst.

"Sorry, professor," she ground out as she looked in Spike's direction, barely seeing the top of his head he was ducked so low. _Stop with the comments!_ she directed harshly to him.

_Fine, pet._

"Miss Summers?" the professor called to her, before she began again. "It seems you have a question from the audience."

"Oh!" _Don't panic, Buffy, you can do this! _"Uhm, sure, go ahead," she said nervously.

"What were the two biggest secrets?" a student asked from the front row.

Blowing out a breath she didn't know she was holding, she answered, "The Tunnel and The Spy. Someone told the Soviets about the secret eavesdropping Tunnel that the FBI and the NSA had dug beneath the new Soviet Embassy in Washington, DC. The Tunnel program cost more than one-hundred million dollars, but never produced a single piece of useful intelligence because the Russians were told of its existence in nineteen ninety-four - five years before they moved in," she snickered on the last.

"And The Spy?"

"In nineteen eighty-nine, the FBI was hot on the tail of a senior US diplomat named Felix Bloch, who was suspected of spying for the KGB. Someone tipped off his handler, a KGB spy named Reino Gikman. Gikman then tipped off Bloch, blowing the FBI's investigation before they could collect enough information to indict him. To this day, Bloch has never been charged with espionage," she answered, sending a shy smile in Spike's direction.

"You may continue," the professor said absentmindedly as he went back to grading her presentation.

"Thanks. Well, they narrowed down the suspects to one man named Brian Kelley, but he was exonerated much later and lost his covert status. He still works at the CIA, teaching spy catchers how to avoid making the same mistakes that were made when he was targeted by the mole hunters," she continued.

_You're doin' a great job, pet_, he whispered in her mind, causing her to smile brightly.

"Eventually, the FBI agreed to buy a file from a KGB officer for seven million. They hid him and his family under assumed names. One of the items in this file was a tape recorded conversation of a man quoting World War two's General George Patton telling his troops, 'Let's get this over with so we can kick the shit out of the purple-pissing Japanese,'" Buffy said with a bit of shock.

"Language, Miss Summers!" Professor Turnipseed admonished. "You are not Patton and this is not the war, please omit when you can."

"God, I'm so sorry," she apologized, turning beet-red as she rubbed her forehead.

_Sorry, pet, but that's what he said! _Spike thought in his defense.

"I know, I know," she muttered, blowing out a frustrated breath.

"You know what?" the professor asked with a frown.

"Ah, umm… that what I… what I said was crass. I'll try to keep it clean," she improvised. This wasn't going well.

"See that you do. Continue please."

Shifting from side to side, she cleared her throat and tried to finish her report. "So the guy's name that was always saying that was Robert Hanssen, a supervisor in the Russian analytical unit. The FBI had never suspected Hanssen of spying before, but all lingering doubt disappeared when the KGB officer who sold them Hanssen's file began to interpret the contents," she said, filtering out the 'bloody wanker' and the 'right tosser' that Spike had formed in her mind.

Smiling to himself, he was proud that she continued on in spite of the thoughts he tossed in to make her squirm… just a little. He had to give her credit, she was doing well under the pressure and she hadn't left the building yet, but his mischievous side was dying for some real action. Let's turn up the heat then, shall we?

"The investigators gave Hanssen the nickname of Grayday, and started slowly up her thighs to the juncture of her legs…" she faltered badly and stopped mid sentence.

You could hear a pin drop in the auditorium then finally a few snickers here and there floated around. Spike was doubled over; tears streaming down his cheeks as he silently laughed so hard his ribs hurt.

Buffy was mortified. She quickly glanced at her professor, who was writing furiously on her score sheet. _Great, you mental house reject! I'm gonna flunk this exam!_ she flung at the blond vamp, who sobered instantly.

_Sorry, pet, sorry. Let's try this again_, he sent apologetically.

"Um, Grayday," she started hesitantly. "They uh, arranged for Hanssen to be promoted to a new job at the FBI, where he could be closely watched by hidden cameras. They tapped his office phone and searched his computer. When a house across the street from Hanssen was put up for sale, the FBI bought it, moved in and began watching him from there."

The professor had stopped scribbling and was listening again. Good, maybe she wouldn't totally bomb the test.

"After about three months of constant surveillance, on February eighteenth in two-thousand one, Hanssen was caught red handed leaving a package of computer discs and classified documents at a dead drop in Foxstone Park near his home in Vienna, Virginia. The evidence against Hanssen was overwhelming and he knew it. He confessed immediately and later plea-bargained to avoid the death penalty. Why, that double-crossing bastard!" Buffy huffed as she absorbed what Spike had told her.

"Miss Summers…" the professor warned.

"Sorry, I know. No personal comments," she apologized. She seemed to be doing a lot of that during this presentation.

"Okay, so Hanssen admitted that he'd been spying off and on for more than twenty years. He started in nineteen seventy-nine, and quit in eighty-one when his wife caught him," she said and then added as an aside, "A devout Catholic, she made him go to confession but never turned him in. But he started back up again in eighty-five, quit when the Soviet Union collapsed in ninety-one, then started again in ninety-nine until his arrest in two-thousand one."

"Impressive, Miss Summers, comments aside, it sounds like you've done your homework," Professor Turnipseed said with some praise. "Anything else you'd like to add?"

She glanced at the bleached vamp in the back and saw that he was nodding his head. "Yeah, Hanssen was smart enough not to tell the Russians his real name, but he was no master spy. In fact, he could have been caught years earlier if the people around him had been paying attention and doing their jobs," she said with a touch of disgust.

"I agree. And to sum it up?" the professor asked.

"In the years that Robert Hanssen spied for the Russians, he handed over thousands of America's most important military and intelligence secrets. He revealed the identities of scores of secret Russian sources, at least three of them executed, and he caused hundreds of millions of dollars in damage to American intelligence programs. But the most damaging I can think of is Hanssen also sold computer software to the Russians that allowed them to track CIA and FBI activities. Someone in Russia then sold it to Al-Qaeda, which may have been used to track the CIA's search for Osama Bin Laden," she finished grimly.

"And where is Hanssen now?" the professor questioned.

"Well he was supposed to cooperate with the US government but he flunked a lie detector test when he was asked 'Have you told the truth?' So instead of being sent to a high security prison, he was sent to a supermax prison in Florence, Colorado… where he is confined to his soundproof seven-by-twelve cell for twenty-three hours a day… and god, is she lovely," she eepped out the last part, Spike's personal thoughts slipping through once more.

Professor Turnipseed frowned in confusion at the most unusual report he'd ever witnessed. "Be that as it may, Miss Summers, you are excused for the rest of this class. You've earned your A."

"I did?" she asked with astonishment, hoping for at least a C. She jumped for joy and ran down to hug the professor. "Thank you, thank you!" she cried as she squeezed the life out of him, literally.

_Slayer, let the man breathe_, Spike reminded her.

"Oh!" She backed away from the red-faced instructor. "Sorry! Don't know my own strength."

Running up the aisle, she was startled when looking at her seat, only to find the vamp missing. _Spike?_ She panicked, looking over the auditorium. Relief flooded her when she felt him move within her mind.

_Outside, pet, a bit too crowded… too many bodies_, he explained, his voice weary with strain.

Quickly grabbing her backpack, she made her way outside to the lobby to see him fidgeting, rubbing his hands up and down his arms, and shaking. "Spike?"

"Just too temptin', Slayer," he admitted anxiously, nodding in the direction of the auditorium. "Needed a break."

Nodding silently, she inclined her head to the left, indicating he was to follow her. Walking side by side, they made no idle chitchat, nor did they look at each other when she gently grasped his hand, holding it as they made their way down the corridor to another hall.

After several twists and turns, they stopped near a set of double doors as she peeked in the window at the class that was winding down, releasing her grip on his hand. "I'm here next. You can hang around campus and wait or you can go back to Giles'. It's up to you," she offered, seeing how tired he looked.

Too exhausted to care if his actions had any negative consequences, he took her hand and softly caressed his thumb over her knuckles, watching her skin flush. "What do you want, luv?" he whispered.

That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it? Lulled into a stupor by Spike's fingers on hers, she tightened her grip on his hand, hoping she could articulate the emotions swirling inside her. "I want-" she started to say but was cut short when the doors opened to allow students to exit the classroom.

"Hey, Buffy!"

Grimacing at the intrusion on her peaceful moment with Spike, she sagged upon hearing the familiar voice of the man who helped teach her psych class. "Hey, Riley," she answered unenthusiastically.

Spike's stiff hand was the first hint that something was off. Turning, she watched him become ramrod straight, though he shifted to stand in front of her. _What's wrong?_ He didn't respond.

Wondering when Buffy would put two and two together to figure out that this thick behemoth was head of the Army team, he remained impassive as the man approached him, hand extended. "I don't think we've met… Riley Finn," he introduced himself amiably.

The century-old vamp stared him in the eyes, glancing at the hand that belonged the Commando. Buffy's Commando. Right, then… no more running, not like he had anywhere to go. Grabbing his hand in a crushing grip that started the chip twinging, he looked at him, unflinchingly.

"Name's Spike. We've met."


	14. Chapter 14

Thank you all for being so patient with this story - I've been re-editing it and it's taken some time to get it done. I have the next few chapters already done, so be on the look out for quicker updates. :D You know the drill - everything belongs to Joss, I own NOTHING, except my own twisted ideas. Some quotes from the episode "Hush".

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"Name's Spike, we've met."

"We have? Are you a student?" Riley asked, slightly confused. The man did look familiar but he couldn't place him.

"At one time," Spike answered cryptically. His grip on Riley's hand lessened as he withdrew from the handshake, his head aching slightly from the forceful clasp.

"Graduated then?" Riley said with a wink and a nod as he stepped back a little when students started shuffling by him in and out of the classroom.

"Long ago, mate," Spike smirked. He was actually enjoying this, this duping of a Commando. Here he was, probably their nemesis numero uno, and they didn't have a clue.

"Spike's observing me in classes this week, Riley… for his… umm," Buffy explained lamely, looking at the vamp for help.

"My master's thesis in Psychology. At Oxford," Spike finished for her.

_Nice save!_ he could hear her say in his mind. If only she knew he was telling the truth about graduating from Oxford she might think of him in a different light.

"Wow! Well then, you've come to the right place. Welcome to Psych one-o-one," Riley said with a flourish, indicating they were to enter the room and find a seat.

They entered the room but Buffy was pulled aside by Riley, Spike forgotten in the hulking man's presence. "So, are you and him…" he hinted with a bit of hurt.

Buffy looked at him blankly. "Me and him what?"

"You know, are you guys… an item?" he asked, getting flustered in the process.

She looked in Spike's direction finding him settled in the back of the room, an empty chair next to him, growling at any student that came near the seat with the intent of taking it. She gave the student teacher a small smile and shook her head. "No Riley, he's not my guy," she said with a hint of sadness.

A feeling of relief came over him and he released her arm, watching her ascend the steps to the back row and sit next to the man that was supposedly observing her for his work.

The man who now had white curls hanging around his face where his honey blond locks used to be. Riley stared in disbelief. His face was now thinner and dark circles were heavy under his eyes. Any illusion of softness was edged away by the harsh angles of his cheekbones and the hollowness of his eye sockets clearly showed the face of Hostile Seventeen.

Riley walked quickly to Professor Walsh's side and pulled her out of the room. "We have a situation."

"You'd better, pulling me out of class that way," she groused back at him, highly annoyed at being man handled.

His lips thinned and he turned her around to look at the class from outside in the hallway. "Scan the upper row and tell me what you see."

Maggie Walsh perused the back row of her class, noting that Willow Rosenburg was absent… because she normally sat next to Buffy Summers, who was now sitting next to… "Hostile Seventeen!" she gasped.

"That's the situation. I'm not sure Miss Summers is aware of her proximity to a Sub-T. She probably thinks he's human, and for a moment, he looked the part," Riley whispered in confidence, trying to explain how the escaped vampire slipped past him and into the class. "Plus, there's something neutralizing the affects of sunlight on it."

"That will be even more useful. Find out what it is. For now, put a tail on him when they leave. We can't cause a scene on campus grounds," Walsh ordered then returned to her class.

Standing outside in the hall clenching and unclenching his fists, Riley stared at the dangerous menace sitting next to Buffy, who was currently leaning over and whispering something in her ear. And she was laughing! He had to keep a tight watch on the lab rat to make sure his lady came to no harm. Blowing out a pent up breath, he edged backed into the classroom as Walsh began her presentation.

"So… talking about communication and talking about language… they're not the same thing folks. It's about inspiration," she intoned heavily as she scanned the class. "Not the idea, but the moment before the idea when it blossoms in your mind and connects to everything. It's about the thoughts and experiences that we don't have a word for."

_No word for how amazin' Buffy is_, Spike mused as he listened to the old hag drone on. He wasn't paying much attention anyway, just biding his time until her class was over, so he started doodling on a sheet a paper he snagged from the Slayer.

Buffy was writing her lecture notes when she heard Spike's thought, her hair hanging down to hide her reaction. She smiled to herself, glancing over to him and then froze.

_Spike! Your glamour!_

He was sketching a picture of something from his childhood when he noticed his hand and heard her thoughts all at the same time. The pink tinge that had covered his skin was now faded to a mottled gray white and he bet his face looked the same way. Reaching up, he ran his fingers through his hair and pulled at white curls that had come loose as he pursed his lips.

"Well bugger me," he muttered.

"Miss Summers, is there a problem?" Walsh asked in an imperious tone.

"Uh, no… just a little, um, upset stomach is all," Buffy fumbled. _Put your hood back up!_ she pleaded and Spike quickly complied.

"See me after class if you would," Walsh said, brooking no argument. She turned back to the board and began writing assignments for future dates.

"Oh, this is all I need," the Slayer muttered under breath. She glanced over at Spike whose face was so withdrawn into the cowl she could barely tell he was there.

_We need to leave now, pet, it's not safe for me here_, his panicked thought stole across her mind.

She frowned. 'Why?' she mouthed.

The vamp's eyes darted to the two figures at the front of the classroom and back to Buffy, but she didn't catch on. He then nodded his head slightly in the direction of the hulking man and the sour faced professor, as she looked down the rows at them.

Professor Walsh, normally curt and to the point, was drawing out her lecture with a hint of a smile, while Riley was sitting behind the desk, staring at… Spike! And his leg was moving a mile a minute giving away how antsy he was. A deep and unrelenting chill started creeping up her spine as she slowly turned back to Spike.

She had to give him credit; he wasn't quaking with fear or itching to hit something. He just sat there with a blank look on his face, his eyes lost, as if he were drowning within himself… like a torture victim.

_Spike?_ she whispered across his mind. He made no indication that he heard her but kept his eyes aligned with Riley's.

"Class, I trust you'll remember the assignment. I know your parents will if you flunk this course and lose the money they paid," Walsh told the groaning class, dismissing the students.

Spike was still in a trance-like state when Buffy snapped her fingers in front of his eyes and he finally responded. "Have to leave now, pet," he said impatiently, getting up from his seat.

Pulling on his sleeve, she turned him to face her. "Why? Why are they a threat to you?"

He didn't want to tell her that the bloke was playing for the other team as she might just turn him over to them. "Buffy, please, let's just disappear… vanish, fade away… your choice, but let's do it, yeah?"

"Miss Summers?" Walsh interrupted.

"Sorry, Professor. What did you want to see me about?" Buffy apologized and moved towards the front of the class, Spike shadowing her closely.

"It seems you saw fit to bring a 'guest' to my class. You know my rules. I'm curious as to why you felt you could break them," she inquired as she glared at the figure behind the girl.

"Well he's a visiting… um, student finishing his uh… well, he just wanted to observe the class for his theatrics," she faltered looking at Walsh and now Riley who had sidled up closer to her.

"Thesis," Spike corrected her softly.

"Er, thesis!" Buffy repeated.

"I highly doubt that," Riley accused as he stood close to Spike with his arms crossed.

Buffy frowned at Riley then turned her attention to Walsh. "Excuse me? Are you calling me a liar?"

"Considering that your right eye is twitching, your voice is quavering, and your pupils are dilating and contracting then I'd say yes… you're lying," Walsh answered in an analytic tone.

Spike knew his cover was blown; it was just a matter of getting out of the room without being caught, though he knew he had to protect Buffy and the why's of that left him stunned. He cared for her, wanted to see her safe and happy, regardless of what happened to him. Time to pull out the Big Bad.

"You should've killed me when you had the chance," the blond vamp drawled with a devilish grin, waggling his eyebrows towards the hulking grunt.

It now made sense to Riley, recalling Buffy's conversation about Spike and his waggling eyebrows. Though he'd never admit it to anyone, it was a cocky, sexy gesture. "A mistake I intend to rectify," he ground out as he grabbed Spike by the collar and braced him up against the wall.

"Riley, be a good boy," Walsh ordered her TA as a mother would to a wayward child.

It all happened so fast that Buffy didn't have time to protect Spike, standing there in stunned silence. Protect Spike? Yes, her heart said. _Protect Spike because… you care. You care what happens to the bleached pest, you care that he seems lost most of the time these days, you care about…_

She stopped that train before it crashed. _All right, I care!_ she thought, the idea echoing in Spike's mind.

Diverting his focus, the vamp raised his eyes to hers and grinned widely. "`S alright, pet, I know I'm irresistible."

Rolling her eyes, she swept out her leg, catching Riley's feet in the process. Both men went down, with Spike bouncing up to stand next to her, as her swift kick sent Riley rolling towards Walsh in disbelief.

"What are you waiting for? Retrieve him," she ground out as she watched her aide skid across the floor.

Lumbering to his feet, Riley charged at Spike, taking no notice that Buffy was blocking his path. "This is for making me think that you liked me!" she yelled as she landed a backhand to his cheek and a sucker punch to his gut. He went flying across the room and landed in a heap, unconscious.

Walsh stood with her mouth agape as she watched Hostile Seventeen stride over to Riley and bend down to pick him up by the scruff of the neck, forcing him against the wall in the same position that he'd been in earlier.

When Spike turned to look at Walsh, he flashed a little fang, but not fully vamping out. "You need to keep your soddin' pet on a leash," he growled. "And close your mouth, it attracts the flies."

Walsh closed her jaw and tried to reason with the Hostile. "You can't kill him. The chip prevents it."

"What the hell are you people?" Buffy's eyes darting between the comatose man pinned by Spike and the mad professor blocking the door.

Crossing her arms, Walsh's eyes flashed in anger. "That's classified and on a need to know basis. And you don't need to know."

"This thing, inside my head… it prevents me from killin', yeah?" Spike interrupted, his fist slowly closing around the man's windpipe, causing the chip to fire but paying no heed to the blood dripping from his nose.

"Yes," the professor answered, studying his reaction to the behavior modification.

"So why am I a soddin' Jeopardy contestant? How is it that I became a fuckin' informational guide when this bleedin' microchip chooses to fire?" the vamp hissed irately, having finally dropped Riley on the floor and now advancing on the older woman.

"That shouldn't happen. Dr. Angleman supervised the surgery himself," she shot back, refusing to be intimidated by the creature standing a mere two feet in front of her now. "The neurotransmitter was placed around the hypothalamus. When it senses a surge such as with rage, or fear, or in your case the need to kill, it sends jolts of electrical current to short circuit those tendencies. Like Pavlov's dog, you become trained to avoid situations that cause the pain of the current."

Without thinking, Spike grabbed Walsh and threw her up against the wall, vamping out completely. The current she earlier described raced through his brain and swirled around his head, yet he retained his grip on her. Blood dripped down his left ear and his nose, landing on his lips as he spoke.

"I'll never be your bloody dog!"

Buffy watched the whole thing take place and moved not one muscle to help Walsh. She didn't know the whole story, but it was a safe bet that whatever happened to Spike, her psych professor was a big part of it. Seeing the struggle Spike was having with the chip and the urge to tear his tormentor apart, she went over to the hurting vampire and the scared witless woman, laying a hand on his forearm.

"We need to go, Spike."

Noticing Buffy's hand, he released Maggie Walsh, letting her slump against the wall for support, the buzzing in his head bombarding his brain with mindless, numbing facts at high speed, having no power left to voice them. Unable to stand on his own, he slumped against the Slayer, uncaring that he was covered in blood.

As they turned to leave, Walsh dared to speak. "We'll find you eventually. It's only a matter of time… and then we'll take you apart, piece by piece."

Gathering what remained of his strength, Spike slipped through Buffy's fingers, and lowered his face to Maggie's. She just stared at him with one raised eyebrow, sure of her promise to find and destroy him.

Suddenly, he spat the blood that had dripped from his nose onto her face, wishing to prove her wrong. "That's the only piece of me you're going to get."

Then, without a backward glance, he walked out of the room with Buffy, praying he was right.


End file.
